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inklore · 3 months

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does it feel good?

— qimir x f!reader

premise: he is your beginning, the whole reason you have made peace with the darkness inside your head, and you know someday he may become your end. whether by his saber or by him finally consuming completely. you welcome both.

contents: established master x acolyte dynamics, shared force bond, unprotected p in v, foreplay, light choking, biting, scars and burn marks mentioned, death, teasing, over stimulation | wc: 2.7k+

note: i love that we all saw the water scene and went yeah that's for the smut writers. glad we are collectively going insane over this man.

The moons paint the water in a shimmering light that bathes its surface in sapphire that fades to the deepest of blacks the longer you stare into it. The waves that hit against the ragged stones are like a siren call to your aching body.

Your muscles are still tight and coiled from earlier. Your molars grind together when you lift your arms to pull off your ruined and stained clothes. A burning sensation felt through your body as the fabric covering your torso moved against every burn, cut, and bruise you had acquired tonight.

You didn’t stop by a reflective surface to check how many battle scars you’d earned. Badges of honor. More wounds worn like metals placed on your neck by a pleased master. Wounds, he’ll help you heal, stitch up, seal with the press of his palm to the tattered skin—stolen supplies from planets you can’t remember the name of with faces you can only remember the dead eyes of, used on the ones that don’t close up right.

The moonlight makes them look less serious. The illumination colored the dried blood and tissue into something misty. Almost tantalizing to the eye. Unlike the light of day, where you’re sure it will look less glamorizing. The ugly truth of the way your skin is going to bubble up and mold over to protect itself once the healing process begins is less glaring in this hue.

Your toe dips into the water. It’s always warmer than you think it to be. Always welcoming you in like it’s been waiting for you to return. Waiting to wash away the grim and blood that seemed more permanent on your skin than your own flesh.

You wade at the edge for a bit, pushing around the water with your feet. The water wading at your ankles.

The ringing hasn’t stopped.

It rarely does until you’ve closed your eyes and settled it. Until your body is less taut, muscles released from the on switch of fight. The power inside your veins thrumming like a wasp trying to free itself from the tissue of your bones.

As if it had gotten stuck in there and couldn’t find its way out. Refusing to settle down or leave until you’ve maimed, avenged, and proved yourself—leaving your body and muscles in their current state.

You’re not worried about something being in the water. If there were, you would have been able to feel it. Sense it’s beating heart and the danger of allowing it to keep beating. You’re alone as you walk further into the water, sinking into it’s depths until your body is completely engulfed. Your neck and head the only things going untouched.

The freshly made badges on your skin burn when you scrub your thumb along the edges of them. Specks of dried blood float along the surface of the water before they’re lost to the darkness below.

Amongst the ringing in your head, you can hear the screams of anger that tore from your lungs when the Jedi had gotten the upper hand. The green of his saber leaving red against your skin. Making your moves turn from confident to something rage fueled.

Somewhere among the ringing, you know his scream is in there. Amongst the many cries for help and cracking bones.

They always linger. Always hold on like a power pack to your dark side.

You know your body won’t fully relax until you’ve stopped the ringing, though. You didn’t believe in blessings or curses. Bad fortune or good. Everyone’s life ended the same way. If you did believe in the farce, you would think the ringing that goes from the base of your skull to the drums of your ears was a curse.

A quiet mind is a blessing.

The buzz of the force within you too heady when you're in the throes of battle. War. Darkness. It’s always been like that. Even before him.

It’s only gotten worse with him beside you. Like the bond the two of you had opened too much too deep and you feel everything more clearly. More unfortunately.

He taught you how to silence it. To reign it in after the adrenaline and pace of your heart slowed.

There were still things you had to learn. Things you were kept from knowing by your old master, the one who only saw one way to wield your power. A cowardly excuse for a master whose burial you wish you could have witnessed.

It’s aggravating, almost. Anger inducing for sure.

Someone not believing you are capable of knowing the truth about the power you wield. It’s criminal to not allow someone to be their true self all because of a set of rules that only benefited one group of people. One way of living, when there were so many.

Your aggravation has faded by now. The anger is still there and buzzes through you. But you no longer feel like a part of you has been held back. Stunted and aching like your chest had for years—as if a rock had found itself in the base of your heart and took up rent there—until Qimir showed you the way.

Your true self.

Your full potential and all you were capable of.

All that had been inside of you, held back for so long.

Filling your lungs with air, you sink yourself under the water and hold yourself there. Eyes closing as you center yourself. Slow the wasp in your marrow to something dull. Stop the ringing in your ears until all you can hear is the hum of the water hitting the rock above the surface.

Just you and the force.

Just you and the water.

Until you feel him.

Until he’s there inside your mind.

Until you feel a hand at the base of your skull, fingertips brushing at the nape of your neck to let you know he’s not just in your head. He’s beside you.

Your eyes meet once you’ve filled your lungs with air again, and you wipe the water droplets from your lids.

You watch him splash water against his neck, running the palm of his hand along the dirt and grime that clings to his skin. Cleaning himself of any traces of the deaths the two of you have left in your wake tonight.

His calm demeanor always pulls you back from the edge. Always brings a calmness to your blood. To the beating of your heart. Even when shit has gone haywire, his demeanor never switches up. Never slips into something that could be labeled as sloppy or driven by anything other than who he truly is. What he’s made of.

His calm seeping through your shared bond until you have no choice but to relax.

The handful of times you’ve seen that calmness turn into something animalistic, it’s made you envious, on the same hand, it’s made the space between your thighs burn.

“You did well tonight.”

“The smell of my burning flesh still clinging to my senses says differently.”

The corner of his mouth lifts in amusement, “you did well.” He repeats. Ducks his head forward to wet his hair. His fingers running through the strands, droplets falling down his face. Your eyes follow them all the way down the column of his neck to his chiseled collar bones.

It doesn’t take one wielding the force to know what your mind is projecting. Doesn’t matter that the two of you share a part of your brain. The thoughts of past nights spent together, Qimir teaching you the ways desire can be wielded and used to your advantage—or disadvantage, depending on how you look at it.

Your face turns from him. Eyes moving up to the moon.

Trying to hold back your thoughts the way he taught you. Even if it is futile against him.

“How do you feel?”

Has the ringing stopped, Is what he’s really asking. Do you need another lesson? Are you still weakened by that ailment? That curse?

Except he wouldn’t be as dramatic as that. Not with this. Not ever. Especially when it came to your power. Your capabilities. The perfect little acolyte he’s trained you to be.

“Fine.” Your answer clipped, honest. Because you are fine, and your stubbornness will not allow you to let this turn into another lesson about you not being able to be as calm and collected as he is. No shadows of doubt lingering over who he truly is. His purpose. His wants. His desires. His darkness.

He’s always been able to read right through you, though. Even without taking up space in your being. The force has little to do with that fact.

You were never afraid of the darkness that lived inside of you. Never afraid of the power you could wield and the lives you could take.

The only time you’ve felt true fear is being seen.

Accepted.

The potential to let someone of importance down and not withhold your end of a deal you’ve inked your name in blood just to be beside. To prove yourself to someone who’s your equal. Another half of your very being.

His face shows nothing but that calm amusement when he wades behind you. His fingers moving against your skin in an act to rid you of the spots of dirt you’ve missed on your neck and shoulders.

Swallowing hard when his fingers scrape against past scars, he lingers there for a beat. Running the pad of them against the raised skin. A whisper in your head.

You heal beautifully.

It’s a softness you’d never thought him to be capable of when you found out who he truly was. The man behind the mask. Even if the unmasking had been done unintentionally.

It’s not softness you feel from his touch, though. No, his touch eases the strain in your muscles, only to gather itself in your belly. Your body burning with anticipation, knowing how this goes.

How you’re rewarded when you impress him.

When you do as you are told, your master is ever the generous one.

“You’ve proven yourself tonight.” His lips brush against the tip of your spine, “killing without a weapon, not stopping until you were the last one standing. Freeing yourself from the ones who held you back for so long.” Your breath hitches in the back of your throat when his mouth presses down on that same spot at the beginning of your spine.

A hand snaking around your throat, his palm wet and warm against your collarbones as he pulls your neck at just the right angle to have you looking at him.

“Did it feel good?”

“Yes.” You swallow, wrap your fingers around his wrist. “It always does.” You whisper, your eyes flashing down to the upturn of his lips.

His nose runs along your cheek to your temple, his eyes closed, inhaling you. “I can always smell it. When you let yourself become one with the darkness. Right before you take a life.” His thumb runs a circle against the vein, which tells him the pace of your heart has picked up. As if he’d need it to know, as if the two of you don’t share something that links you completely to the other. “It still lingers. It’s distracting.”

It’s not a question, but you nod. Your eyes flutter when he pushes his hips forward, and the hardness of his cock moves against your ass.

He doesn’t ask permission, the two of you knowing you’re past such kindnesses, when his hand cups your mound. He knows what your body needs right now. What it wants, what it’s expecting. He can feel it too. His index and middle fingers spread your pussy, giving him access to that pleasure point on your body that only he knows how to stroke just right to have you pliant and singing for him.

As if you were not already devoted to him. As if he were not your reason for being.

He’s your beginning, and you have no doubt he will be your end if it comes to it.

The pad of his finger circles your clit in that slow way that lets you know he’s going to take his time with you. Going to drain every last bit of strain and tightness from your muscles, pushing that buzz between your legs and making him the only sound in your head—until he thinks you have had enough.

Until your reward is good enough for him to be satisfied with how you took it. Until he knows your mind is back where it needs to be—here, with him.

His mouth meets the hand at your throat, his teeth sinking into the parts his fingers aren’t pressing into. “You’re everything I could have hoped for.” His tongue laps against your pulse.

Perfect.

You may never know if he actually means the words; you can only feel what he allows you to feel through your shared connection. He’s better at blocking than you. But he knows you need to hear these praises. Knows how good and pliable it will make you. His words stoke the fire inside your soul that burns through your darkness. That allows you to become completely consumed by him and the desire to be on this side.

Of being free.

What he does allow you to feel lets you know there is some truth somewhere in there. You can feel it in how hard his cock thrusts against your ass when your body pushes back into him. You can feel it in the way his thoughts stream through your mind.

So obedient.

Your cunt’s so greedy for me.

You’re mine.

The skin on your fingers stings from gripping the rocks in front of you. The pain you should feel from the heel of your palm digging into the jagged stones, lost in the haze of pleasure consuming your body.

Qimir consuming every last part of your being.

Taking over every dark corner of your mind and not letting you feel or hear anything but him.

Your moans become more shaky, your chest heaving as you pant and curse. The weight of the finger on your clit grows heavier, faster, deliriously good the more you near your orgasm.

Your lips are moving in inaudible words. Words he understands, making him grin against your jaw.

“You want my cock tonight?” You know he’s read your mind, or rather, your body. Know he can feel what you desire and crave. What your minds begging him for. “Hmm, do you think you’re deserving of that big of a prize? You spill a little blood, and suddenly you’re greedy.” He hums, “you did well. Do you think you deserve it, though? No?”

Heat burns your cheeks; his chuckle makes you sob into the night air. The stubbornness to please and be as perfect as your counterpart wants you to be is not in favor of the mounting pressure that’s building in your pussy right now.

“I already think you’re perfect; don’t push it.” His foot pushes easily at your ankles. Your thighs spread enough for the head of his cock to press against your entrance and thrust inside.

“Mmm,” you whine at the stretch. Your eyes fluttering closed at your swollen walls being filled. Walls that tighten around him as he sets a fast pace. Matching the rhythm and stroke of his fingers. Sending your body on an overwhelming precipice of a carnal need to come.

The heaviness of his breath as he says your name against your skin—the quick flashes of the pleasure he feels from being inside of you—is what finally sends you over the edge.

Your orgasm rocking through you like a storm. Your body shaking against him, walls fluttering and squeezing around his cock, making him groan. Your throat raw and scratchy from the noise that’s pulled up from your lungs when everything in your body is set completely aflame.

Your hand falling from the rocks, and pressing your nails into his wrist, trying to pull his hand from between your thighs. The over-stimulation of his finger moving against your clit even after your orgasm has passed makes you cry out and ripple the water around the two of you as you squirm.

The tip of his cock hits that spot inside you that makes your vision go white. That falters your fight against his torment.

“You can do better than one. You deserve it, don’t you?”

#qimir x reader #qimir x you #the acolyte x reader #qimir smut #the stranger x reader #star wars smut #star wars x reader #laur writes star wars

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pumpkin-bats · 3 months

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One Piece Boys As Lovers - Headcanons

The poll has spoken! I kinda figured this was gonna be the result but I was curious anyway. So without further ado-

Law:

Works with you asleep in his lap.

Doesn't get jealous often, but it's obvious when he is.

Not big on PDA but loves subtly showing people that you two are together, and looks real smug about it the entire time.

Massages your hands when he's distracted or thinking about something and accidentally made it into a habit, so now he does it to bring him comfort.

Lots of late night cuddles. He's a big koala. The stickiest parasite, does not let go even when bribed.

Huffs at a lot of your most energy draining ideas, but always goes along with what you want or say regardless. Often has a fond smile as soon as you aren't looking.

Zoro:

A lot of nap time sessions where he's your pillow and blanket. But he'll wake up the second you ask him to.

Spars with you and tries to teach you to swordfight because he likes sharing his interests with you.

Does not make it obvious, but he worries about you a lot.

Doesn't like it when you're out of his sight for extremely long periods of time, it makes him antsy.

Holding hands almost all the time in public. Not as much in private, because the private time between the two of you is a different kind of safe intimacy.

Has a sixth sense for when you're upset and acts on it instantly.

Sanji:

Favorite foods, all the time, at all times. No food request is off the table, he'll make anything you crave when you crave it without any fuss. Sometimes he'll make it just because.

Really likes to dance with you, whether it's wildly spinning around the room or slow dancing under the moonlight.

The physical embodiment of 'just to be the man who walks a thousand miles to fall down at your door.'

He's very weak to cheek kisses. Melts. Like butter.

Rubs your shoulders when you're tired.

Matching couples outfits. His idea of matching with you is wearing a shirt or tie that matches the general color of your outfit.

Ace:

He occasionally takes you stargazing where you spend the entire time making up constellations and the stories behind them. Eight times out of ten you end up huddled together and asleep outside.

Cuddling gets rough in the summer because his temperature runs high, but it's non-negotiable during the colder months. Personal heater go brrrrr.

Holding hands while walking down the street, swinging your arms and laughing like love struck fools.

A lot of adventure themed dates. Amusement parks, hiking, canoeing, or even little walks through the park.

Needing to label your food in the fridge so he doesn't eat it all. He eats it anyway, but always apologizes and makes up for it.

Brags about you a lot to his friends.

Mihawk:

Candlelit dinner dates that become regular dinner nights because they happen so often.

Makes you breakfast every morning and knows how you take your coffee/tea like the back of his hand.

Pet names. It's always 'my dear' or 'darling' and never just your name.

Not the most physically affectionate but always takes care of you.

Occasionally he'll do something for you and you'll be like 'oh I love this' and then he'll proceed to respond with 'I know, you- [brings up extremely obscure habit/interest/trait/tic of yours]'.

Sleeps significantly better with you in his arms and the morning after a night without you he'll offhandedly mention how he slept well but not that well.

Buggy:

You do each other's nails and makeup. Sometimes when he's too tired, he'll ask you to do his makeup for him.

He adores it when you play with his hair. Whether that be styling it, washing it, or simply just running your fingers through it, he loves it all. Goes literally weak in the knees and has to sit down.

Bad jokes when drunk that are so bad the both of you spend an hour straight just laughing.

He gets very easily embarrassed whenever you do nice things for him or compliment him. His face gets redder than his nose- which you may or may not tell him.

A lot of singing together. All kinds of songs and tunes, at any time of the day. Also very loudly. Sometimes off key.

He'll try to be straight faced around you, but the second you say something or make physical contact he giggles like an idiot. He's very shy about physical affection, and acts nervous about it every time.

Crocodile:

The physical embodiment of 'they asked for no pickles.'

He really likes to keep an arm around you whenever he's next to you, and will occasionally tug you a bit closer.

Long, mellow conversations that turn into late night talks.

It's hard to tell when he's jealous because he tends to glare at anyone and everyone that gets a bit too close to you.

Buys things for you. Not to be nice, it's actually a genuine problem. He buys way too many things for you because he tends to get something if it reminds him of you, which happens often.

Does face masks with you on the weekends and you can occasionally convince him into doing a spa night with you

#one piece #one piece headcanons #one piece crocodile #crocodile x reader #dracule mihawk #mihawk x reader #buggy the clown #buggy x reader #portgas d ace #ace x reader #roronoa zoro #zoro x reader #black leg sanji #sanji x reader #trafalgar law #law x reader

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tarotwithlucien · 2 months

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𝓨ou in the eyes of your future spouse | pick a pile

Hello everybody! Welcome to my first PAP on this account – it's also the first time I've done one about "future spouse", so I hope you like it and that it resonates with you! ♡

┈─★ Disclaimer: This reading is for entertainment purposes only and shouldn't be taken seriously or used as a substitute for medical and professional advice. It's also a general reading, so it may or may not resonate with you.

┈─★ How to choose: Close your eyes, take a deep breath and choose the image that catches your attention the most – trust your intuition.

── .✦ PILE 1

Shufflemancy: Moonlight/Sunrise - Rope and Ladder, It's Not The Same Anymore - Red Orange County, To - The Neighbourhood, Love Songs For The Haters - FLEECE & Maintain The Madness - The Jane Austin Argument.

Without a doubt your future spouse loves you – otherwise they wouldn't even marry you lol – and they are a protective partner towards you, so in general, they see you as someone they should protect and care for. Therefore, they can act as your knight in armor when you need it, as they are always ready to protect and defend you from all those who try to hurt you.

They also view your relationship dynamics as if you are the sun and the moon – for some of you reading this pile, you are more the moon and your future spouse is the sun or vice versa. Your future spouses see you as a beautiful and attractive person – as if you were a mermaid who mesmerizes them with your enchanting beauty. And one of the physical features they love most about you in general are your eyes because, in the eyes of your future partner, they shine in a way that they have never seen before with anyone. Not only do your eyes shine, but in your future partner's vision, you light up their entire life. Before you met and were together, they saw life in a gray way due to the adversities they faced on a daily basis and, thanks to you, they felt life gain more color, they felt love and it was as if their eyes open themselves up to everything they had never experienced before in their lives.

You probably met early and one of the things they love most is being able to look at old photos you took – whether it was when you first met, when you started dating or just photos of you together in general – and admire how you used to be and they probably compare themselves to the old version of themselves in the photo and it's really funny because you could be looking at your photos together and they laughs, points to their face in the photo and says something like “wow, I was weird ” and it’s a really cute moment between you two. They feels nostalgic in these moments and really misses that time, because unfortunately it doesn't come back and all that remains are memories – and fortunately they are good.

In the eyes of your future partner, you are going through a difficult time in your life. It's not just your partner who is a nostalgic person, you are too and you probably remember the times when your life was easier and compare it to the difficult life you have now – like when you were children, for example. They also see that you are tired and stressed about the way things in your life are – for example, you may work long hours at jobs you don't like just so you can pay the bills at the end of the month, you have to put up with people you hate and it even seems like you let people step on you so that problems don't occur (you can be people-pleasers too) and your biggest victory of the day is going home and sleeping, all while repressing what you're feeling and putting on a fake smile. Your future spouse is your family and they can tell when you are feeling bad and they think that you are being too hard on yourselves and that you may not want to admit it, but you need to seek professional help. So, if this is your case, don't be afraid or ashamed to ask for help! This is destroying your mental health, pile one, please take care of yourselves!! Stop bottling up your feelings, process them, let them go, and then stand back. Do this for yourself.

Your future spouse knows you better than you know yourself – they know what to do or say to make you feel good and are careful about what not to do or say to avoid hurting you or making you feel worse. In their view, sometimes you can end up projecting your problems onto them, but they continue to love you regardless of your flaws – just be careful that this doesn't become a toxic trait that will affect your relationship. They may have met many girls/boys before meeting you, but none of these people compare to you! This whole time in their lives, they never needed anyone, they never felt the need to have someone by their side – on the contrary, they used to be the type of person who went out to a party/bar and flirted with people just to feel good/attractive. But, from the moment they met you, things changed completely and seemed to turn upside down. Just being away from you makes your future partner's heart sink. You make them feel good.

That was all, pile one! I hope you enjoyed it and that this reading resonated with you. Don't forget to take care of yourself and seek professional help if you need it, otherwise your future partner will hit you lol

── .✦ PILE 2

Shufflemancy: Room - Ethan Tasch, Ode To a Conversation Stuck In Your Throath - Del Water Gap, Epiphany - Stained, 976-Evil - Deftones & Tulsa Jesus Freak - Lana Del Rey.

In the view of your future spouses, you are a person who doesn't like to fight in your relationship and who tends to avoid conflicts so as not to cause major problems. You may even end up staying quiet instead of taking a stand on something that bothered you and your future partners also think that you can't express yourself very well through words. It's okay not to want to fight in a relationship, because who does? But, you must understand that some conflicts are necessary and need to happen, so don't run away from them, position yourself and choose your battles well – you don't need to fight over stupid things either lol.

In the eyes of your future partner, you are a disorganized person – the type who leaves their clothes scattered all over the floor or easily forgets where their left their things because everything around them is just a mess – and they think this is just a reflection of how you are feeling inside and how your mind is going. In fact, they may think that your inability to communicate effectively in the relationship is due to problems such as depression or anxiety. Regardless of what your case may be, your future partners notice this and care about you, they accept you exactly as you are and they will not leave you in this difficult time. You may be facing mental health problems, which leave you tired and without energy to do basic tasks like tidying your room and that's okay, just don't forget to take good care of yourself and, if necessary, seek professional help as it will be very beneficial for you!

For some of you reading this pile, before you finally became a couple, you and your future partner were best friends and all this time they tried to convince themselves that you were just that, but deep down they wanted to be tying you to the bed 🤭. They really wanted you and things are no different now. You also seem to be a popular couple who attract the attention of other people wherever you go, as if you were a celebrity couple or just people who are very loved by others.

In general, your future spouse is very jealous and possessive of you, so they want to be the only ones who can touch you in this way and just imagining people other than them touching your body the way they love to touch you so much chills down their spine lol. Just like in pile one, one of the physical features they love most are your eyes and they love just looking at them. One of the activities they love to do with you is traveling – in fact, any time they can spend time with you makes them happy. Your future spouse is so cute, because in the moments when they notice you are down, they do everything they can to make you laugh or just smile. In their view, in moments when you're feeling bad, you tend to walk away just to calm down - and for some reading this pile, this could apply to your future partner.

That was all, pile two! I really hope you enjoyed this reading and that it resonated with you. Just like in pile one, don't forget to take care of yourself and seek professional help if necessary 😠

── .✦ PILE 3

Shufflemancy: White Roses - Greyson Chance, Nervous Young Inhumans - Car Seat Headrest, I'll Follow You Into The Dark - Miya Folick, Uzumaki - Softcut & Dancing In The Moonlight - alt-J

Your future spouse is totally devoted and blind with love for you, pile three! In the eyes of your future partner, they can't live without you and they can't even imagine what their life would be like if they didn't have you by their side. It seems like from the first moment you met, just by looking at you, they felt attracted and didn't waste any time, they went to ask you out on a date lol. Just like the future spouses in pile two, your future partners are also jealous, the only difference is that they seem to be more jealous than the partners in the previous pile, because just seeing you going out, having fun with your friends without them around your side already makes them jealous.

The future spouses in this pile think that you still don't know all sides of them even though you are together. They may have red flags that you haven't noticed or ignore, so it's good to be careful. They may have addictions like alcohol or drugs, they may have bad habits, they may be overly possessive/jealous, controlling, aggressive or end up giving you the silent treatment or distancing you from them when you fight or there is a problem going on in your life as a couple – and maybe that's why you feel the need to walk on eggshells in your relationship to try to prevent your partner from acting that way towards you, which isn't cool. If for any reason you are uncomfortable, they disrespect your boundaries or you simply no longer want to be in the relationship, don't be afraid to walk away!

Because of what I mentioned above, your future spouses see you as someone who doesn't raise their voice in a fight, who doesn't point the finger in their face when they're wrong - they see you as someone who basically never showed their bad side to them. In their view, you understand them. Your future partners may also be individualistic and not have a black and white view of life – that is, they do not follow concepts such as “good” and “bad” and usually only do what is beneficial for them. Furthermore, they usually give back to others what they first received or what they think others deserve. But when it comes to you, it's different. It seems like they control themselves and use the power they have to give you what is good – they know they can affect your life, so they choose to affect it in a positive way. In my opinion they are weird, ngl lol.

Even though I think they're weird lmao, they would be willing to go through hell with you if necessary. They would be with you in times when no one else would be and they would be your refuge, ready to hug you and comfort you.

That was all, pile three! I really hope you enjoyed it and that the reading resonated with you. Be careful with emotional dependence, don't be afraid to set boundaries and, if necessary, let go of relationships that no longer serve you! Until the next PAP ♡

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steddieas-shegoes · 1 month

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if you look deep enough into steve’s eyes, the colors start to shift from a medium-brown to light, almost golden, like his hair in the summer, like his skin when it’s wet.

eddie finds himself noticing these things more often as the year after vecna passes. on the anniversary of nearly dying, eddie thinks he’s noticed everything about steve.

but then steve shows up at his door after dropping the kids off at their respective homes, a smile on his face, and something mysterious in his eyes. something that distracts eddie from the golden specks the reflect off his porch light. something that only eddie really gets to see.

“wanna take a ride?”

“where you taking me, big boy?”

steve blushes, a soft pink that would be warm to the touch if eddie was brave enough to reach out.

“it’s a surprise.”

eddie trusts steve, so he gets in his car and doesn’t ask anymore questions.

steve talks about something dustin did on the way, complaining with a fondness only steve could have for the kid.

it hits eddie as steve pulls onto a side road.

the field.

the wildflowers bloomed early this year, and eddie had mentioned recently that he would like to make new memories in a place where he was facing death or prison exactly one year ago.

he didn’t think anyone was listening, but apparently steve was.

steve parks the car and eddie doesn’t think he can look at him yet. he thinks he’s gonna cry. he thinks he’s so deeply in love with this man that he may never experience anything like it again.

it’s dark, but the moon is bright. there’s still a light chill in the air, but eddie’s still wearing his leather jacket from hellfire earlier, so he barely feels it.

they walk together through the field, close enough that their hands brush, but still more distance between them than eddie wants. he’s surrounded by beauty: the flowers, the stars, steve.

he stops when steve does.

they both look up at the stars for a few minutes, silent so they can hear the crickets and their own heartbeats.

“a year ago, when i almost lost you, i thought about all the things i didn’t get to do or say or know about you. i was angry for a long time.” steve turns to eddie, giving him a sad smile. “it wasn’t fair that you had to go through all of that and i couldn’t do anything. the doctors weren’t doing enough, and the cops weren’t doing enough, and no one understood how important it was that they fix it.”

eddie’s watching him, baffled. he’s not sure where this is going and he’s worried that his own feelings may be clouding his vision.

“i couldn’t make your pain go away. i couldn’t make it easier. i couldn’t help you walk again or play guitar. i just had to watch.”

eddie feels a tug in his stomach, a pull that leaves him breathless.

“but i watched. and i saw every side of you. and i don’t think i’ll say this right, but i practiced with robin and she thinks i did good.” steve breathes in and turns to face eddie completely. “i learned a side of me that i didn’t know about while i watched you. i learned that love looks different than what i always thought. and i learned that because of you.”

“because of…me?” eddie’s trying not to get his hopes up, but he’s pretty sure they’re higher than ever.

“because you love so loudly. everyone you love knows it and you aren’t scared that they’ll run away. it’s probably because it’s impossible not to love you.”

eddie thinks he actually is experiencing some kind of post-death dream. maybe he got too high in his room and steve never even showed up at his door.

“eddie? did you hear me?”

eddie focuses on steve’s look of concern, on the golden specks in his eyes that the moonlight makes shimmer.

“i don’t know?”

“i said i love you.”

“oh. then, no, i didn’t.”

steve’s face falls and eddie realizes a second too late that his response to steve saying he loves him wasn’t the exact thing he’d been holding back for at least six months now.

“i just thought you should know. um. so i guess i can wait in the car if you wanna stay a bit longer-“

eddie is only staying in this field if steve is with him, so he wraps his arms around steve’s shoulders and hugs him harder than is probably safe.

“i love you. sorry i’m a dumbass and didn’t say it the second you did. i was trying to convince myself this was real life.”

steve laughs against his ear and eddie’s pretty sure they belong like this.

“why now?” eddie asks as he pulls away.

“because i told myself if you didn’t do it by today, i would.”

“how long have you been waiting on me?”

steve lets out a breath. “eight months give or take.”

“that is…much longer than i would’ve expected.”

“yeah, well, imagine being the one waiting.”

eddie smiles at steve, and steve smiles back, and eddie notices a new thing.

steve harrington’s got a crooked tooth. an imperfection to some, a sign of being human to eddie.

“what’s that face for?” steve asks.

“you’re perfect, stevie.”

they kiss in the field where eddie was saying goodbyes a year ago. they look at stars in a clear sky while holding hands and talking about what their future might look like. steve’s head rests in eddie’s lap while eddie traces steve’s lips with his finger, memorizing the curl of his lips when he smiles and the feel of the vibrations when he hums a song eddie doesn’t recognize.

steve picks flowers, and eddie makes a crown, and they both say i love you in a million ways.

they walk along the edges of the field, where the rv was parked while they prepared for the worst. eddie shivers at the memories, but steve kisses his shoulder and the back of his hand and he shivers at that instead.

they ride back, and eddie sings along to whatever songs play on the radio, even if he messes up the words. steve laughs and it’s better than any music they could listen to.

they kiss on eddie’s porch, surrounded by darkness because no one turned on the outside light. it’s so late, no one would see them anyway.

steve stays at eddie’s, but wayne’s home, so they’re quiet and keep their hands above the waist even though they so desperately want to touch, and kiss, and bite every inch of each other.

they still get carried away, which doesn’t surprise eddie at all. what does surprise eddie is how quickly steve sits in his lap, rutting against his stomach and biting back moans and whimpers and eddie laces their fingers together and squeezes, meeting each thrust with his own. neither of them last long, coming in their pants like virgins. they laugh, but they kiss through it, teeth clacking as they gasp for breath.

they take turns in the bathroom in case wayne wakes up. steve comes back into eddie’s room without a shirt and hair slightly damp. eddie feels his heartbeat quicken as steve hops into bed next to him.

they sleep with steve curled against eddie’s chest, eddie’s arms around his back, sweaty but content.

content and happy.

and when the sun rises the next morning, eddie wakes first and notices another new thing about steve: he drools in his sleep.

#so this was supposed to be my pop up drabble next month #but then i got carried away #and it’s no one’s fault but my own #so now it just exists and i’ll have to write something else #oh darn #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #drabble #getting together #love confessions

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moonstruckme · 9 months

Note

Ugh, Whimsical!reader x James (not together yet) where anytime she says something he just has the most lovesick look on his face and Sirius is like “we’ve lost him, boys” but then reader quips back with something about looking at those you’re comfortable and friendly with boosts your seratonin and you’re glad to have James look at you if it makes him happy

Thanks for requesting babe!

James Potter x whimsical!reader ♡ 932 words

“You seem like you’re feeling better today, Remus,” you say, passing him a cup of tea. You give one to Sirius, too, then James. It’s got a couple of little flowers floating on the top, James notices. Adorable.

Remus looks a bit caught offguard. “I am, thanks. How’d you know?”

“Your aura’s looking less gray than usual.”

Sirius snickers. “Just like you to have a gray aura, Moons. Boring.”

You settle on the couch beside James, crossing your legs underneath you. “I don’t think Remus is boring,” you say, voice soft and airy as dandelion fluff. “His color often just looks a tad sapped. It’s bluer today.”

Remus seems to perk up a bit at your appraisal. He does look well, James thinks, but your noticing improves his color even more. Remus doesn’t like being viewed like a helpless, afflicted lamb, and you never have treated him like one, save whatever you put in his tea (it takes a few minutes longer to make than the rest of yours, though James pretends not to notice).

James watches you watching Remus, and his heart gives a happy little throb. You’re so kind, considerate in ways which you play off as incidental, but he can see the effort you put into taking care of the people in your life. He doesn’t know how you know half the things you do, but you’re always looking out for them. He’ll be waiting for Sirius to come home late at night and you’ll text to ask if everything is okay, or Remus will be having one of his worse days and you’ll show up unannounced with chocolates and juniper bound with twine to “cleanse” their flat, whatever that means. Or when James was sick with the flu a few weeks ago, and Remus and Sirius both swore they hadn’t said a word to you but he’d woken from a nap to find you sitting beside him with soup and a very strong elderberry tea. He’s fairly sure your presence had healed him just as much as the sustenance. You have that effect on him.

“Do we all have auras?” Sirius asks, and James comes out of his reverie to find his friend watching him with a poorly concealed smirk. He supposes he’s had that look on his face again. Lovestruck.

“Of course.” You give Sirius a funny smile, like this should be obvious. “Everyone has an aura,” you say, “we just can’t all see it all of the time.”

“What’s yours look like?” James asks.

Your lips part in surprise as you turn to look at him, your knee bumping his thigh. “I can’t see my own. I’d have to ask someone else.”

“What about mine?” Sirius asks.

You turn back to him. James feels the loss. “Right now, it’s mostly orange.”

“Right now?”

“Yours shifts a lot. A couple of minutes ago, it was pinker.” You tilt your head, considering. “You’re very sunset-y today, Sirius.”

Sirius grins, and James knows that whatever his friend may think about auras, he’s going to carry that compliment with him for the rest of the week. “And what about our Jamesie? What’s his aura like?”

“Oh, James’ almost never changes.” You look over at him with a small smile on your face. Maybe James is flattering himself, but he feels as though there’s a faintly secretive quality to it, like some part of your smile is just for him. “His is always yellow. Though I have been noticing a bit more red than usual lately.”

James isn’t sure he can speak with your eyes on him like this. You’re so lovely it’s choking him. Thankfully, Remus comes to his aid.

“Is that a good thing?” he asks. “It shifting, I mean.”

You don’t turn away from James like he expects you’re going to. You hold his gaze, that smile broadening just slightly. It has all the soft radiance of moonlight.

“I don’t think so,” you say. “It’s not making him any less himself, it only means that something has changed.”

“Good god,” Sirius stage-whispers to Remus. “Look at him, we’ve lost him completely. Bet it gets redder every time he looks at her.”

“It does, a little.” Your eyes flit upwards, presumably to colors which he can’t see but he imagines his face is starting to match. “It might be the serotonin boost. Looking at people you care about will do that.” You set a hand on top of his, thumb stroking over the knuckle of his pinkie finger. James’ mouth is a desert. “I’m happy to have James look at me if it makes him happy.”

Sirius lets out a short laugh. “I’m sure it does, sweetheart. He’s—”

Remus must elbow him, because he goes blessedly silent.

“I’ve been wondering,” Remus says mildly, “do you give us different kinds of tea? They always look different from each other.”

“Oh, yes.” You finally break your gaze away from James’, but your hand stays atop his. It’s hardly a whisper of a touch, and yet he’s very concerned you’re somehow absorbing every thought and feeling he’s having through some freaky osmosis. It doesn’t seem wholly out of the realm of possibility for you. “I make them with different ingredients for each of you.”

Sirius quirks an eyebrow. “In that case, can I try a new one next time? This one tastes a bit like dirt.”

You shrug, nonplussed. “If you like, but it might not do as much for you.”

“What do you put in them?” Remus asks curiously.

You take a sip of your own tea. “Just what you need.”

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dark-moonlust · 2 months

Text

Caught Between the Fae

This is a Patreon commission I finished yesterday. The commissioner chose to remain anonymous. I hope you enjoy this small story! It was so enjoyable to write and it's super steamy, too! I love every part of it 🖤

Pairing: 2 fae males (Nestor, Quin) x f!human (Layla)

Summary: Layla is a photographer in her mid-30s. During her exhibition event, two fae males, Nestor and Quinn, are drawn to one of her paintings and her beauty. They recognize her as their mate and quarrel over who will get Layla and her artwork. Finally, they decide to share her as she belongs to them both. They claim her as their mate and go into a mating rage, driving deep inside her and marking her with their cum.

Warnings: minors don’t interact, 18+!!, fingering, oral(female+male receiving), kinky talk, a little bondage, big 🍆, fae magic to fit, p in v sex, anal, double penetratiοn, lots of 💦.

Tonight was her big night.

Layla took yet another deep breath and strolled through the art gallery. Her heart thundered with excitement and a little fear. That night, her photography was the star of the show. All her pieces were there for all to see and judge. She truly hoped the people would admire and grasp the feelings and meanings behind each photo. Her work was her pride and joy.

As she walked the sleek gallery, the room was a whirl of positive reviews and the clinking of champagne glasses. The people liked her work! Feeling her anxiety lessen, she smiled, soaking in the energy as she mingled with the guests. She let herself enjoy the vibes, her soft curvy frame moving gracefully through the crowd, her fiery red hair catching the light, making her green eyes gleam with pride.

Taking a short break, she stood near the center of the room and tried to calm her raging heart. The gallery was a big hit and a dream come true! She still couldn’t believe it. She wanted to jump and laugh out of joy. As she scanned the faces of the audience, her gaze stopped on two striking men in front of her favorite piece: a photo of a moonlit beach at night. They were boldly gazing at her piece and then her way.

A jolt traveled through her. Their gazes practically saw through her.

Tall and towering, they were both, with pointy ears and supernatural auras exuding such intense power that caused her whole body to come alive and warm up as if licked by fire.

They were fae... what otherwordly beauty.

The one on the left had close-cropped blonde hair, deep purple eyes, and although he wore a sleek black suit, she could see his neck and hands, which were filled with tattoos that surely filled the rest of his body. The other male beside him was all dark and sensual mischief. He had long, curly, dark hair and ice-blue eyes that sparkled with a devil-may-care attitude.

They were attracting the eyes of everyone in the room; their presence electrifying.

From across the room, Nestor, the King of the Court of Nightmares, stood in front of Layla’s photo, his deep purple eyes drawn to every detail of the mounted piece. The gallery lights cast the perfect light, illuminating the moonlight beach. His fingers tightened around his glass as he swirled the dark liquid inside. Beside him, Quinn admired the same photo, his ice-blue eyes attracted to the art and the artist herself. He was the Emperor of the Court of Chaos.

“Stunning,” Nestor murmured in a low mumble, scanning the room, his gaze finding Layla and staying on her. “They shall be mine. Both the piece and the artist.”

Quinn chuckled, his eyes equally intent on the female. “You wish. You don’t have what it takes to appreciate them both.”

“And you do?” Nestor’s voice was higher than usual, turning heads. “Thinking too high of yourself, aren’t you?”

“This art piece belongs in my court, and little fireheart in my bed.”

“Fireheart…” Nestor whispered, his eyes tracing the fire-colored hair of his mate, the soft and curvy frame he hungered to have exposed beneath him. “I’ll never let you have them. She’s my fated one and the Queen of the Court of Nightmares.”

Quinn’s laugh was light and mocking. “I’ll bid whatever the hell you want. She’s my mate, the Empress of Chaos Court. She will be mine.”

“You? I don’t think so. I want her and that piece, and I’ll have them,” Nestor stated, his voice hard with authority. “You’d better wet your dick elsewhere.”

Quinn’s lips curled at his words. “I’ll wet my dick inside her, in every warm little place inside her.” The Emperor of Chaos stared at his mate, their gazes meeting and holding. She was gorgeous. In every way. Her red hair cascaded in soft waves over her shoulders, and her green eyes sparkled with passion. He wanted her. He’d never back down.

“She is mine.” Nestor’s eyes flicked to the other fae. “The moment I saw her, I knew she was my fated one.”

“And you think I didn’t feel the same?” Quinn spat back, with a hint of annoyance. Long moments passed before he added, “Perhaps there’s a reason we both recognize her so strongly.”

Nestor narrowed his eyes at him. “What are you implying?”

“Fate doesn’t make mistakes,” Quinn answered. “She belongs to both of us.”

“This makes sense…” Nestor trailed off, clearly considering the proposal.

Quinn chuckled warmly. “Finally, we agree on something. So, what do we do about it?”

“We claim her. Every part of her.”

It was that moment when Layla decided to approach them. She closed in on them, and they immediately framed her luscious body with their possessive, towering bodies on both sides. Layla felt hot all over, her frame shivering from the intensity of their aura and their mere height. The dynamic between the two fae made her belly clench with arousal and for a few seconds she felt such an intense magnetic pull towards them that she could barely contain it.

“Gentlemen… I am Layla, the artist behind these photographs. I’m honored by your interest, and I couldn’t help but notice your tension… is there a problem?”

“Good evening, Layla,” Nestor greeted with a sultry drawl. “I am Nestor, King of the Court of Nightmares. Your work is extraordinary, I must have it.”

Quinn grinned and stepped closer to her, his ice-blue eyes twinkling with amusement. “I am Quinn, Emperor of the Court of Chaos. Our problem is that we both desire this piece of art, though not as much as we desire you.”

Nestor shifted closer to her right side, his scent enveloping her. “You should visit my court, Layla, and be the crown jewel of my kingdom. Choose me, fireheart.”

“Fireheart?” Layla muttered, a little taken by the nickname and the intensity in his eyes.

Quinn hummed and let his towering form nearly envelop her left side. “We feel a connection to you, little one. A bond that cannot be ignored.”

Layla didn’t know whether to laugh or blush at their bold statements. The gallery suddenly buzzed with whispers and speculations as all eyes turned toward the three of them. Both fae males had surrounded her, and her cheeks felt hot, as did the rest of her body. Her pussy was also wet, aching with a need she couldn’t barely ignore. They weren’t just interested in her art—they wanted her.

She took a deep breath, her heart pounding.

How could she refuse the King of Nightmares and Emperor of Chos without offending them?

“Gentlemen,” she finally said, her voice wavering, “I’m afraid the artist—meaning myself—is not available for such… arrangement. However, the art piece is. I am sure we can find a way to resolve this without—”

“Without what?” Nestor’s eyes darkened. “Without accepting the connection you are feeling?"

Layla opened her mouth to reply, but Quinn cut her off. “Don’t deny it, fireheart. You feel it too. The mating bond, the desire.”

Layla bit her lip and unconsciously rubbed her thighs together. Liquid warmth pooled in her core. “I… I don’t think this is appropriate.”

“Yet your pussy is wet and aching for us,” Quinn whispered against her ear, his breath warm. “And it’s not going away unless we take care of you.”

“Accept us, little mate,” Nestor said, sending shivers down her spine. “We can feel your need. You want us. Both.“

“I—I…” Layla stuttered wordlessly, her eyes flicking between the two fae. She felt such longing and undeniable attraction for them. But how could she just give in?

“You are ours, fireheart. Ours to claim in ways neither of us could do alone,” Quinn nodded, his ice-blue eyes intense.

“B-b-both of you…” Layla muttered, her body tightening pleasurably at the mere thought of those two fae belonging to her.

“Hmm,” both men growled, their eyes caressing her face and red hair.

Layla nodded slowly, listening to her heart which was screaming for them. Immediately, Fae magic surrounded her, stealing her breath away. The gallery blurred and melted away, replaced by a lavish bedroom filled with rich fabrics and flickering candles. Nestor and Quinn embraced her from both sides, their hands exploring her heated body.

Nestor scented her neck, his fingers tangling in her loose hair as if he couldn’t have enough of her. Quinn kissed her shoulders over the straps of her dress, each lingering touch leaving trails of delightful warmth and heat. When their gazes locked on hers, she felt hypnotized by the mating bond between them. It was real; they belonged to her, and she ached with need, desperate to be touched by them.

“Yes, fireheart,” Quinn rasped, sliding down the straps of her dress. “You are our mate, and you will be filled by us both.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Nestor said, unzipping the back of her dress, his fingers warm against her skin. “Do you agree, sweetheart? Do you want this?”

“Hmmm… I want you,” Layla breathed, adrenaline pumping in her heart.

Quinn’s hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing over her lower lip. “Good girl,” he murmured, his icy eyes bearing into her emerald ones. They were enchanting, hypnotizing. “Now, let us show you what it means to be ours.”

Layla didn’t realize how quickly they scooped her up and propped her on the plush bed. They divested her of her clothing skillfully. Quinn peeled away her dress while Nestor unclasped her bra, moaning low as her breasts spilled free. He cupped them in his big palms and pushed them up to his hot mouth, suckling each pouting nipple. Quinn knelt at her half-closed thighs and gently removed her panties and shoes. Seeing how she hesitated once she was fully exposed to them, Quinn’s long fingers trailed down her belly, then lower, teasing the sensitive skin between her thighs.

“Open for us, little one,” Quinn said, his voice a seductive promise. “We’re going to fuck you deep, make you feel so good.”

Layla shyly opened her legs and suddenly both men were between them, each one securing a leg over their muscular thighs, their hands making sure she was fully open to their eyes. Using their magic, they removed their clothes, leaving her to gape at the two fae males, so big and powerful—in every way.

Nestor had a sculpted body covered in tattoos. His eyes were warm and inviting, his stomach taut, his thighs firm and in between... his cock stood proud, looking utterly inhumane. It was thick and very long, pulsing, its length surrounded by protruding veins. Quinn was no less captivating. He was just as tall, his stance emphasizing the force of his thighs and the raw power of his well-muscled body. His eyes swirled with blue ice as he pumped his rigid cock. It was deliciously curved and textured with ridges, a little thicker than Nestor’s but not as long.

Having both of them… Layla felt the dark desire, the intensity overflowing. The need. The craving. She wanted them. Wanted them more than anything in her life.

“Fuuuuck, our mate’s even more beautiful than I imagined,” Nestor growled. She looked so pretty and tiny in contrast to their raging bodies. Flushed face, nipples out, pussy exposed. He wanted to debauch her.

“Show us your pretty cunt, fireheart,” Quinn demanded softly. “Open those pretty lips nicely for your mates.”

Dazed by desire, Layla reached down and did as told. She opened her outer folds with two fingers, showing off her slit and the bud of her clit. Both men growled ferociously and stared for a few seconds.

“That’s it,” Nestor growled, bending to lick a thick stripe up her pussy. “So wet already for your mates.”

Layla gasped, all sane thoughts fleeing.

Quinn also leaned down to taste her pussy, kissing her throbbing clit. She saw stars.

“She is ready for her mates,” Quinn said with a smirk. “You’re going to take every inch of us, aren’t you, fireheart?”

Layla whimpered, her voice and body trembling. “Yes… Please…”

The two males smiled.

Nestor toyed with her pussy lips and Quinn rubbed her needy clit. Layla whimpered and struggled to arch off the bed. She squirmed restlessly, but their hold on her thighs was too secure, allowing no movement as their fingers probed and rubbed her pussy to their liking. She melted under their touch, her heart pulsing with the intensity of their bond.

“Such a sweet wet cunt," Quinn marveled, gathering her slick and rolling it between two fingers.

“Love your nipples, sweetheart,” Nestor drawled, moving to suckle one tit then the other, his tongue swirling around the hardened buds.

“Pl… ease,” she sighed, her body feverish with need. “Need you. Need you so much it hurts!”

"Hurts?“ Quinn said in a mischievous tone as he rubbed her clit round and round while thrusting a thick finger inside her. Layla cried out and Nestor claimed her lips, swallowing her moans.

“Hurts so good, hm, sweetheart?” Nestor drawled as their lips brushed, their tongues mating.

“Yesss, please, more please… hmnnn...”

No sooner had she said that than Quinn was tasting her mouth, kissing her possessively and deeply. His tongue licked into her mouth then his tongue danced with hers.

“What do you need, fireheart?”

Oh, how she adored the way they called her nicknames. She wanted to be theirs forever and get lost in their warmth and affection.

“Want you so much. I’m so empty…”

“Our mate needs to be filled,” Nestor said to the other fae. “But first she will cum for us.”

Quinn agreed in a low chuckle and finger-fucked her while Nestor pressed his thumb against her clit, rubbing over and over. Driving her higher and higher until she exploded, bliss and pleasure overtaking her until she couldn’t think or talk. Layla quivered and while she rode her orgasm, Nestor suckled her lower lip. Quinn moved to her breasts, his mouth nursing her aching nipples. Captive in their hold, she arched into their touch, drawn-out moans escaping her.

She was still dizzy from her orgasm when they shifted. Nestor sneaked between her thighs, slapping his heavy cock against her glistening pussy. The sound was wet and squelching, her pussy fluttering with the need to be filled. Quinn kneeled next to her head, his cock pulsing in the air, the tip leaking precum. Layla licked her lips, hungry to taste him.

“Open,” Quinn commanded softly, “wet my dick, mate.”

Layla obeyed, her lips parting to take him in. Smiling mischievously, Quinn thrust his hips gently, his leaking cock stretching her mouth wide and filling it up. At the same time, Nestor entered her pussy, his girth spreading her cunt and filling her up inch by delectable inch.

“Mhppphhh!” Layla gasped and gurgled around the cock in her mouth, her pussy filled to the limit by Nestor. Quinn gripped her fiery hair, guiding her head to keep sucking him. She was so full… Quinn’s shaft kissed her throat while Nestor’s cock kissed her cervix.

“That’s it… fuck, you’re perfect,” Nestor groaned, watching her pussy suck him in.

“Is it good, fireheart? Being fucked from both ends?” Quinn pulled his cock out of her mouth with a wet pop, his cock coated in her saliva.

“Hmnn! Want more!”

With a proud moan, Quinn shoved his cock back into her hot mouth, going deeper and fucking down her throat. Nestor watched the lewd sight with pride. Their pretty mate struggled a little, but she took Quinn’s cock like the queen she was, hollowing her cheeks and clenching her pretty throat. She stroked his balls, cradling them in her small hands, her eyes rolling back with each thrust from both of them.

Groaning, Nestor pounded deep into her cunt, making her pretty tits bounce with each sharp thrust. He kneaded her mounds, his thumbs pinching her nipples, causing her to gag and whimper around a mouthful of cock, her breathing heavy. Gods, she was so pretty like this, trapped between them, their cocks spearing her back and forth.

A few calculated thrusts, and she came explosively, her body shuddering. Once she rode the waves of pleasure, the fae changed positions again, with Nestor fucking her mouth and Quinn taking her pussy. The dual sensations were overwhelming, liquid pleasure coursing through her veins as they filled her relentlessly. The room echoed with the rhythmic slaps of skin against skin and her muffled moans as she took fae cock.

“Such a good mate for us,” Quinn said with pride. Her lips were swollen, her pussy drenched with her release. “Now it’s time to take our seed, hm?”

“Hmp, yes… want your cum,” Layla said in a seductive purr.

“Are you ready, sweetheart?” Nestor drawled. “Ready to take us both in your soaked cunt and tight little ass?“

“Hmm, gonna take you both,” Layla nodded, seeing the pride and desire on their handsome faces. “Need to feel you inside me.”

In a flurry of motion, they repositioned themselves so that Layla was straddling Nestor, her raw breasts rubbing against his muscled chest. Quinn kneeled behind her, his strong hands spreading her asscheeks, his thumbs teasing around the tight, puckered hole. Such a cute little hole. Layla whimpered when Nestor gripped her hips and guided her down onto his throbbing dick while Quinn thrust a magically lubed finger into her ass.

Layla groaned, desperation and desire in her green eyes.

Quinn kissed her spine. “Relax your pretty asshole and take my fingers, fireheart.”

Layla clutched Nestor’s shoulders and tried to relax while Quinn squeezed a second oiled finger into her ass, the thick intrusions making her gasp and shut her eyes tightly. The combination of Nestor filling her pussy and Quinn’s fingers in her ass was strange. She felt exposed, vulnerable, and utterly at their mercy.

“So damn tight," Nestor muttered against her moaning lips, his shaft buried in the heat of her cunt.

Quinn added a third finger in her ass, pumped, and curled them inside her before replacing them with the head of his cock. The broad head spread her tight hole, forcing its way inside. Layla trembled at the dual invasion— they were so deep, stretching her wide around their inhuman girths. She glanced down at where they were joined, and with shock, she realized just how much more they had to go. Only a third of their shafts were inside her, and that both thrilled and scared her.

Nestor’s voice broke through her haze. “You can do this, sweetheart.”

“You’re so big…” Layla whined. She was human, could she really take them both?

“Deep breaths, mate,” Quinn advised gently. “Take a little more of us, hmm?”

“Feels strange…” Layla looked at them for guidance, her cheeks flushed, her eyes worried. She could feel their dicks rubbing inside her, and she took deep breaths that were mixed with cries of pain and pleasure.

“Let’s stroke your little clit,” Nestor murmured, his thumb stroking her bud, sending pulses of warmth all over her body. “Yesss, that feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Hmm! Moree!”

“Such a good little mate,” Nestor cooed and proved his point by pulling out of her wet cunt then slamming more inches inside.

“Our mate needed a cock up her cunt and ass so badly,” Quinn growled as he worked deeper into her ass.

“You will take us, mate. Again and again until you reek of our cum. Our magic protects you. Relax your holes,” Quinn ordered in her ear.

Blindsided by the fullness of their penetration, Layla said yes in a series of raspy moans. Their fae magic infused her fully, empowering her and building her arousal. Before long, she’d taken the full lengths of their cocks. The fullness, the heat, the stretch— she was overwhelmed but in no pain. She curled between their powerful bodies, and when they started fucking her in earnest, she cried out, her nails digging into their flesh.

“Look at you,” Nestor growled, his purple eyes dark with lust. “So beautiful riding our dicks.”

“You’re perfect like this, fireheart,” Quinn whispered, his hands fondling her asscheeks. “So tight, so hot.”

Hands grabbed and fondled her as they pounded her, their cocks owning her depths. When Nestor’s cock left her pussy, Quinn plunged into her ass. Layla tried to get more friction only to have their strong hands restrain her. Nestor grasped her tits while Quinn secured her wrists with magical silken ropes, carefully tying her arms behind her back. The silk felt like a caress, soft and slightly loose.

She didn’t complain; she only trembled between them, her watery eyes begging them to claim her.

“If this is too much for you, fireheart, say “red” and we will stop. I promise you. Understood?”

“Yesss,” Layla nodded fervently. “Now… just fuck me.”

“Easy, sweetheart,” Nestor said, his hands gripping her thighs. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Layla was too far gone to think straight. “C-can’t! Want more!”

“It’s the mating bond. She is human, and it’s affecting her. Our magic is also making everything stronger,” Nestor explained to the other fae.

“Such a needy little mate,” Quinn rasped and pressed a harsh kiss to her mouth. “Bound and begging for us.”

Nestor grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. “You think you can handle us, huh? Think you can keep up with us?”

“Hmn… I can handle it,” Layla panted as they impaled her on their stiff cocks.

Nestor chuckled from under her, his fingers pinching her nipples. “Is that so? Well, let’s see how long you can keep that attitude.”

The two males exchanged glances before they resumed pounding into her. Nestor lifted her a few inches, then lowered her back down onto his cock. Quinn thrust his hips, fucking her ass in full thrusts that reached deep into her guts. They were both too thick, too hard, and too long, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

It went on and on; their stamina seemed endless, their cocks so impossibly hard and swollen with the need to cum. The scent of desire hung heavily in the air and she came again with uncontrollable, shuddering contractions, her holes clenching hard around their massive girths. The males followed right after her, their muscled bodies shuddering, roars ringing out as she felt something burst inside her. Massive wings sprouted from their backs as their seed filled her up, loads and loads of it, forcing little aftershocks of ecstasy.

But they were far from done.

They switched places, Nestor claiming her now stretched asshole while Quinn filled up her pussy. Their wings curled around her as they slammed inside her, and Layla lost herself in the mating bond, quaking between them, her arms securely bound, her holes fluttering around their shafts. She could only whimper and utter their names, begging them to stop, then begging them to never stop and make her cum.

“Remember your safe word, mate,” Quinn reminded her roughly. “If it’s too much say "red" and we will stop.”

“Would you like us to stop fucking your naughty holes?” Nestor’s fingers curled around her nape, his hips snapping repeatedly into hers.

“Nnn—nooo!” Layla whined, her body tense as she balanced on the edge of pleasure.

Quinn growled his approval. “That’s good, fireheart, because we’re not going to.”

The bed creaked, obscene moans echoing with every move they made. Her fae mates fucked her powerfully, thrusting to the hilt again and again, deep and tirelessly. Quinn devoured her lips with his kisses, his hands cupping her tits and pinching her sore nipples. Nestor growled from behind her, his broad chest pressing against her back as he claimed her ass and flicked her clit with his thumb.

They were primal and fully affected by the need to claim her, and she loved it—she loved them and how they fucked her, it was unlike anything she had imagined.

Layla’s moans rang out when she came again, sobs of pleasure escaping her kiss-swollen mouth. She trembled as a pleasure bomb went off in her center. It was too much, but it was divine, every nerve was alight. They joined her soon after, pulsing up inside her and releasing spurt after spurt of their cum. She was already filled with them, but the second load overflowed from her, dribbling down her thighs.

Layla didn’t know for how long it went on.

They untied the silk ropes and took her again and again, lifting her off the bed, sandwiching her between their aroused bodies and feeding her their cocks in every position imaginable. Their wings flapped powerfully, and when Layla touched them, her mates went into a mating rage, driving deep inside her, claiming her, owning her.

As the sun began to rise, their frenzied mating finally came to an end.

They collapsed on the bed, the covers tattered and smeared with signs of their primitive coupling. Layla’s mates enveloped her, spooning her from front to back, their bodies entwined with hers, their cocks still hard inside her due to the suction of her cunt and ass. She was sated and exhausted, feeling a sense of belonging she had never known before.

They took turns kissing her, softly, lovingly, whispering sweet nothings while gazing at her with an impossibly soft, oh-so-soft expression on their faces. Their seed had marked her as theirs; the mate of the Nightmare and Chaos Courts.

“Who do you belong to, little mate?” Nestor asked, kissing the side of her neck.

“You,” Layla breathed. “Both of you.”

Nestor growled and gazed at her possessively. She belonged wholly to them. And they to her. She was filled to the brim with their seed, her holes stretched taut around their shafts. It was the ultimate claiming. "So beautiful. You did so well, fireheart.”

“Stunning.” Quinn brushed a few sweaty hair strands from her face and kissed her fluttering eyelashes. “You were so good for us, mate. Our beautiful Queen and Empress.”

“Yes,” Nestor agreed proudly. “We shall unite our courts and give our mate everything.”

“Hmmm,” Quinn hummed against her chest, his voice a sultry whisper against her lips. “Do you like being filled by your King and Emperor, fireheart?”

“Yes,” Layla answered, her heart brimming with affection for them. “I love it. I love you both.”

Nestor hummed from behind her, kissing her softly. “We love you more. You’re ours, sweetheart. Forever.”

That night, they’d claimed more than a masterpiece.

They’d claimed their soulmate.

#fae x reader #fae x human #fae x oc #comission #monster writer #monster writing #fae smut #fae fucker #monster boyfriend #monster lover #monster x human #monster fudger #monster fucker #monster x you #monster smut #monster x female reader #monster romance

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idyllcy · 10 months

Text

i've never had somebody, so I don't know how to love

word count: 8.45k

warnings: children (idk), smut, reader has a kid?, fem reader, spoilers

summary: "I shall come back for you." "I shall wait."

Jinshi swears he just wanted a bite. One bite.

He just wanted a taste. That was all. It's called chocolate, Maomao had told him. He was supposed to save a little for you to taste when he got back to your chambers, but he supposes he ate too much, because by the time he arrives in your room, he's warm and flushed, and the only thing on his mind is folding you in half on the mattress. His poor mind.

"My love! Welcome back." You grin, opening your arms for him as he sinks into your touch. His skin is flush against yours as he mumbles something, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck as he lets his hands roam. You squirm under his touch as you try and ask him about his day.

"Maomao made me chocolate," He whispers, tugging at the string around your garment. "When I asked her for an aphrodisiac..."

"Mhm?" You hum, running your hand through his hair to pull off the hair tie. "Why would you need one?"

"I felt bad," He bites your collarbone, sucking gently as he slides the dress down your body. "I have not been paying attention to you all that much these days."

"I told you it was fine, and that I would be fine by myself." You tilt your head back for him to kiss up your neck.

He doesn't answer, hand crawling to the back of your head and kissing you instead. You lean back to comply, tilting your head as you taste the chocolate on his lips, humming in content as his tongue explores your mouth and you get to taste the sugar. You whimper as his fingers brush your bare chest, the fabric pooling around your hips as he fondles your boobs, lips still slotted against yours as you moan into his mouth, mind fuzzy from the lack of oxygen. You whimper when he pulls away to pull his own robes, skin pale under the moonlight as your eyes drink in the color of his skin and the curves of his muscles.

"Staring?"

"Mhm." You mumble. "You are beautiful, my love."

"As are you, beloved." He takes your hand, pressing his lips to your knuckles delicately and turning over to your palm to swipe at it with his tongue, eyes locked on yours as he hums. "I may touch you, yes?"

"Yes." You whisper. "Of course."

He goes back to your skin, lips pressed to the plush of your chest as he bites and such, fingers digging into your waist as he holds you still, the chill of the winter night brushing against your back as you squirm from his touch. You wonder how much longer he will pretend to still like you and convince himself that he needs you. Though, as his lashes flutter against your skin as he pulls from your chest with a pop, you feel it's not too far away.

Each time he sleeps with you, there is less love in his hands than before.

This time, he only holds you like this because of the chocolate presented by the maid, and it makes your heart sour when he stares up at you, eyes sick with affection, affection that you're sure would dry out for you one day— affection that haunts your life an uncanny amount. Yet, you sink into his touch as he kneels to slide the rest of the fabric off of you, parting your legs to slide a finger in and pleasure you, lips latched to your clit as it was with your nipple, and you gasp sharply, a ghost of a moan slipping past your lips.

You wonder if he's going to do this with Maomao one day—

You whimper as he slides a second finger into you with ease, mind fuzzy and empty as you glance down at Jinshi, tears blurring your vision as he fucks you on his fingers with practiced precision, quickly sending you into a blurry high, mind fuzzy as you clench around his fingers with your first orgasm of the night. Though, it isn't enough for him, his fingers still sliding in and out of you, even when your eyes blur over and tears fall from the lack of time you get to breathe. His name breaks past your lips in shattered syllables, tears staining the silk of the pillow as you stare down at him, lips puffy and cheeks red.

Jinshi shushes you instead, pressing a kiss to your clit as one of his hands holds your thighs open, the bottom of his chin wet with your slick, and he hums gently, vibrations brushing against your clit as you jolt. The combination with his fingers becomes too much, and you cream around his fingers again, splashing his face with your cum as he laps at it, eyes half-lidded as he does. He stays there until you're whimpering for him to leave you be, tears in the corner of your eyes. He licks the cum off his fingers as he reaches to wipe your tears, leaning forward to kiss them away as your bottom lip quivers.

"Jinshi, my love." You whimper as he lifts one of your legs to rest the ankle on his shoulder.

"Yes, beloved?"

"Please don't leave in the morning." You whisper, arching your back and closing your eyes as he fits himself into you slowly. He's such a good stretch. It makes you sad to think that he would leave you one day. He waits for you to adjust, hand warm on your thigh as you whimper, shifting your hips to adjust to his size. You let a breath out when it doesn't burn, and Jinshi takes it as a sign to start moving, the roll of his hips deliberate to nudge your sweet spots that have you seeing stars, and you hold a strand of his hair between your fingers as he leans forward, dark hair caging the two of you in as you gasp with each thrust, heart hammering in your chest and making you ditzy. You cry his name in broken sobs, a mix of overstimulation and your own heartbreak making the tears indistinguishable to you.

He reaches to wipe your tears as he makes love to you, concern all over his face, and the flush on his cheeks just tears your heart to pieces. He's only here because he had the chocolate. He doesn't visit you during the day anymore, and he only ever comes when he needs to borrow your wisdom— something he doesn't need anymore. something he has Maomao for now. The thought shatters your heart as it twists and turns in your stomach, the tears becoming too much for you to process as your mind blurs over and you let Jinshi do whatever with you. Maybe that would be your last use to him. To be a shell of what you used to be and let him do whatever with you. Maybe that would be replaced one day as well.

One day, you wouldn't even be worth dirt to him.

The thought makes your mind spin as your rationality slips, and you don't notice the way Jinshi slows down to check on you, fingers brushing your cheek as he legs your leg down. You press your hips flush against his, shaking your head as he pries for why you are crying. It is a worthless reason— it is a hopeless case. You quietly beg him to continue, hoping he would let you keep it to yourself.

"Beloved, I can't do that." He reaches to brush your hair to the side as you flinch, and you stare into his eyes as he stares down at you with the same pain in his eyes, and it kills you. He shouldn't look at you like this. You shouldn't be capable of hurting him. You reach to smoothen out the wrinkle on his skin, mumbling about how he would get wrinkles, and he leans into your touch, eyes glossing over with the same kind of hurt that was all over your face when he was missing. His voice strains as he begs you to tell him. To be honest.

"I can fix it." He chokes out.

"Don't leave in the morning." You whisper.

"You know I can't do that." He breaks.

"Then I can't tell you." You crumble. "If you'd like to stop, then you may—"

His hands fly down to hold your waist down into the bed, eyes wide out of some fear, some fear that you would despise him somehow.

"You have to give me time."

"I've given you almost a month. We've been distant for ages." You cry. "Hurry up and fulfill your marital duties so I can give you a son and you can leave me for the one you really want."

"I don't want her!"

"You don't show that!" You sob. "Just..." You sink into the bed, blinking to get the tears out. "may the heavens let us have a son so you can move on."

"I don't want to move on." He whispers, tears falling on your bare skin as he refuses to look you in the eye. "I love you. You are my beloved. The sun and moon may break and shatter, and the winds could blow in the wrong direction, but it could not stop my love for you. Why do you insist I will leave you?"

You go quiet, turning your head to the side as he gets frustrated.

"Fine. You've always been this way anyway." He picks up the pace again, giving you no time to breathe between his thrusts, and you gasp and throw your head back as he uses you like you wanted him to. It frustrates him to end that you just refused to talk to him, but who was he to ask? Who was he to ask you whether or not you would be honest with him? The most emotion you had ever shown was when he bedded you anyway. Why does it matter what you do? The love you had been so adamant to show when you first got married had gone stale anyway.

Jinshi lets you cum one last time before flooding you with his own seed, bent over your body, his hair imitating bars to cage you in as he hangs his head to catch his breath. You, you, you. You, his first love. You, the love of his life. You, the very wife that he had sworn he would cherish. You who refused to marry into a higher level family and had chosen. You who had gone distant because he had... it was his fault, huh? His issue. He had neglected to spend time with you since the arrival of Maomao. No wonder you were so sad.

He pulls out of you and covers you in a blanket, fetching a maid to help you wash off as he redresses himself.

"Will you... stay?" The maid is the one to ask, and Jinshi shakes his head.

"I must clear something up. Let the madam know I will stay next time."

The next nine months pass in a blur. You bear a son to Jinshi, handing him off to the wet nurse, and you move to another residence in the name of recuperating. Jinshi doesn't pay you a visit once. You wonder if it's because he is busy with palace affairs, but you do not touch upon it. You request the emperor to send you to another residence after recuperation without letting Jinshi know, and the old man lets you go. He knows. The whole palace knows. You have become nothing more than a mockery since your husband flounders around with some new maiden he found, and you are let go. You promise your child will serve the emperor well one day with the care of the maids. The emperor laughs and tells you to focus on yourself.

Thus, your son becomes playmates with the young princess, and you disappear from the records of the imperial palace.

The life the emperor had bestowed upon you is restful and serene. The spring residence is quiet and calm with the other concubines, and you are treated as the empress mother would be. There are no conspiracies and you sit down to enjoy tea with all the ladies, quickly forgetting the life you had to bear before. The maids write to you regarding your son under an alias, and you learn that his first word is neither mother nor father, but grandfather. You smile sadly at the letters each time you receive them, and you are never once paid a visit to your residence.

You wonder if you should have taken your son with you in another life.

Maybe in another life, Jinshi had continued to treasure you.

Then, he comes to visit, and you watch from the street as he carries your son with Maomao, getting asked if the young boy was theirs. You observe to see what kind of an answer he has for the kind merchant. You don't know what force compels you to listen, but you do, going quiet as you stare at the apple in your hand. You shouldn't care, but considering the way Jinshi was carrying your son, he must have learned a lot from the maids.

"Ah, she is not my wife." Jinshi's voice resembles silk as always. "My wife is in recuperation after having our son. Childbirth had taken a toll on her."

You have never been so glad that your son had resembled Jinshi so much.

You pull the veil over your head further, and you slip the woman a copper wen, rushing off with the apples you picked. You pass behind Jinshi with haste, wondering if he would recognize your perfume or such. It doesn't bother you. It shouldn't bother you. You had erased all signs of your existence from the palace forever, so even if he were to recognize the scent, he could simply think it of a maid from the spring residence. It didn't matter. It was years, so even if—

A gust of wind blows your hair as the veil is knocked off, and your son calls.

"Niang!"

You make a run for it.

The palace maids had been showing him the art of you. Of course they had. There was no way that you could have forgotten what they wrote to you. Your heart races in your chest as you make it into the palace walls, and you hide from the footsteps that have been chasing after you. Your heart burns in your chest as you catch your breath, eyes wide as you try your best to remain silent to stay still, and you watch as a maid asks what Jinshi is doing on the residence's grounds with your son. He apologizes and lies that his son had wandered off into the court, and you let a breath out when you no longer hear footsteps. You don't want to face him. You can't. You refuse to.

"So? What was that about? Miss?" The maid raises a brow at your figure between the residence buildings.

"Uh..." You smile awkwardly. "Expect to never see me again. Let's pack up and m—"

"I thought it was you." Jinshi speaks up from behind you, and you turn to look away.

"I am afraid I do not know you, kind sir." You turn to face the maid, nodding.

"Beloved." His voice goes weak. "I understand if you wish not to see me, but at least look at our son."

You stop, not moving.

"I won't... do anything. I promise."

You grimace, setting the bitterness in your chest as you open your arms for your son, eyes weary and tired as look at him. You refuse to look up at Jinshi. You refuse to look at the man who had ruined your life and thrown you away during your pregnancy. Yet, you look at your son, a copy of the man you had loved, and you unconsciously put yourself on the verge of tears.

"No frown." Your son reaches for the furrows between your brows. "Niang, smile."

You muster up a sad smile for him, heart crumbling and crinkling in your chest. It feels like paper. The guilt you had so desperately tucked away in your heart shatters you in the worst of ways, and you smile at your son, holding his head to your chest as you carry him off. Jinshi follows behind you, neither of you speaking up as your son falls asleep on your chest, listening to your heartbeat as you walk around the residence.

"Where are you staying?" You speak up, stopping to stare at Jinshi.

For the first time in forever, Jinshi gets to stare into your eyes again, and his heart crumbles and cracks as he holds his demeanor, trying his best to pretend that it would be fine. You left him because of his own shortcomings. He has no right to beg for you to return without showing that he had improved as a person. So, he stares into your eyes instead, letting the silence pass as he opens his mouth to speak. Right. You... probably moved on and no longer cared for him. The emperor had granted the two of you to live separately, after all.

"The resting quarters in the city center." He stares into your eyes as he talks, hoping you could see the affection in his eyes that he had refused to let go of.

You stare back at him, eyes cold as the winter snow— it hurts him in a way, but he supposes it was deserved for leaving you all alone. You open your mouth to speak, but your son wakes in your arms, blinking slowly as he shifts to stare at you.

"Niang?" Your son wipes his eyes.

"Would you like to go home with diedie?" You ask your son, hand on the back of his head. He's much heavier than when you first had him, but it makes no difference to you. Your son is your son. The day you pass away is the day you would no longer hold him in your arms.

"Will niang go missing again if I do?"

"You have such a big vocabulary." You praise, lips curled into a smile as you press a kiss to his forehead. "Niang has to stay here. Niang promised yeye to stay here."

Jinshi opens his arms for your son, and he clings onto you instead, pouting. "Then I stay with niang."

"What about Maomao auntie?" You hum, raising a brow at him.

"Mm, I like niang better." He clings onto the fabric around your chest, and you give in.

"You will have to return to yeye with diedie when diedie leaves, though." You stroke his hair. "Alright?"

"What if diedie never leaves?"

Your eyes trail to Jinshi, eyes hardening as you warn him not to stay. "That won't happen, er."

"What if you come back with diedie?"

Some sort of weird hope blooms in Jinshi's chest at your son's words. Maybe your son could convince you.

"That would mean breaking yeye's promise, so no to that as well." You press a kiss to his forehead. "Shall we get you rested?"

He nods, leaning back onto your chest, and you wave for a maid.

"Prepare a room for my guests as well." You nod. "Eunuch Jinshi, please let Maomao know to stay at the spring residence for the duration of your stay."

"I thought you hated her."

"I hate you, not her." You turn to stare at him.

"And me?" He points at himself, pout on his lips.

"Prepare a room in the north." You hum.

"...Are you cursing me with feng shui?"

You stick your tongue out at him.

"And for the young one in your arms?" The maid inquires, peering at the eerie similarity between Jinshi and the boy.

"He shall stay with me."

The maid understands, escorting Jinshi away as you continue about your evening with your son, setting him on your bed as you sit next to him to continue embroidering. At night, when you are sure he is resting, you get out of your room, requesting the maids for some rice wine, and you settle in your garden, staring at the stars as you drink. You blink slowly, trying to recall what constellations were visible to the naked eye. You don't remember. Maybe the liquor is getting to you.

"Drinking?" Jinshi stands next to you as you lay on the ground, and you raise a brow at him.

"You shouldn't be allowed here." You hum. "I'll call the guard—"

"Wait." He holds a hand over your mouth, holding you down, and you lick his palm. "Don't scream."

You stare at him as he removes his hand, and you open your mouth to scream before he holds his hand over your mouth again, eyes wide.

"Don't."

"Depends what you want to do to me."

"Nothing bad." He whispers. "I just want to talk. I promise."

You let him remove his hand and sit up, offering him a drink. He goes quiet, drinking it in one sip as he frowns. You sit in the silence, only the wind to whisper your worries, and you don't bother reacting. Perhaps he just needed a drink and wanted to use talking as an excuse.

He finally speaks up, voice wavering.

"Why did you leave?"

"Why wouldn't I? I gave you a son, didn't I?"

"No, why did you..." He hides his face in his hands. "You didn't tell me."

"You didn't come to see me once during my pregnancy. What courtesy did I owe you?" You click your tongue uncomfortably.

"I had Maomao prescribe you medicine to keep the baby healthy—"

"You did not come see me. Maomao is not you." You stare at him. "And you can not expect to make it up by taking care of our son. It is your paternal duty to spend time with your own blood. So if you expect—"

"I don't." He mumbles. "I don't expect you to come back to me because I'm forming a bond with our son. I thought maybe... you would come back if our son asked you to."

"I promised your father I would not step foot back into the imperial palace."

"I will bring you back and bear the blame." He whispers. "As long as you come back to me."

"Not happening." You stand up. "Feel free to finish the rest of the mijiu."

"Belo—"

You don't let him finish, walking off.

You are not his beloved anymore. You are his partner-in-law, but you are not his beloved. You are the woman he left behind at her weakest and caused to spiral. You are the woman who supposedly mattered to him enough to wed you, but not enough to stay with you after the introduction of someone new. You are not his beloved simply because that was not how one treats their beloved.

You wake up the next morning to your son out of bed and dressed with Jinshi in the room. You raise a brow at him, questioning what he was doing in your room, but he points at your son, who had been on the ground playing with the toys the maids had prepared. You blink at him, smiling when he tells you good morning sweetly. Jinshi smiles gently at the way you smile at your son, and he continues playing, a smile on his face.

"So? Did the court ladies find out?"

"What?"

"That you can have kids."

"They think he's child that the emperor took in." Jinshi mumbles. "Of course, the palace maids assume I am called diedie because I took him in as soon as I found out, not because he is my son."

"Perhaps they believe he looks like you so the heavens assigned you as his father. Do they know I am the mother?"

"No. The palace maids who assisted with your birth were all executed per the emperor's orders."

"Ah." You hum. "How old is he this year?"

"Five. Do you not know your own son's name?" Jinshi stares down at you almost pitifully.

You turn to stare at Jinshi. "I named him. Of course I do."

"Why do you not call him by name?"

"Jingui." You hum, reaching your hand out for your son as he smiles.

"Yes, niang?" He holds your finger in his free hand.

"Did the maids tell you niang named you?"

"After luxury." He smiles, hugging you. "I love you, niang."

"I love you too, er." You mumble, squeezing him. "Niang's sorry I couldn't watch you grow up."

"It's okay," He whispers back. "Guigui is glad niang is here now."

You let him play again, eyes on him as Jinshi continues staring at you.

"What do you want?"

"Return to the imperial court with me."

"I'd rather die." You grumble. "I promised Agong that I would not return in exchange for residence here. I was a laughingstock there. I do not wish to return."

"You will not be. We can—"

"It doesn't matter." You hum. "You are Gui's father. I am not his mother."

"You are his mother."

"In birth." You stand up, Jinshi catching you as you stumble. You thank him with a nod, continuing. "He only needs his capable father."

"And his mother." Jinshi insists, not letting go of your wrist. "He needs his mother. The maids can not replace you for all of his life, especially since he has met you now."

"He does not need me. He may want me, but he does not need me." You hum. "He is capable of existing without his mother."

"That is not true." Jinshi slides his fingers down to your palm, hurt all over his face. "He needs you. Both he and I need you."

You shake your hand free from his. "Then you should have shown your need earlier."

Jinshi fiddles with his fingers, pout on his lips as you raise a brow incredulously at him. You ignore it, calling for a maid instead to change into the day's garments.

"Do you need—"

"I will stab you." You warn. "Out."

"What about our son? Jingui, don't you want your diedie to stay with you?"

Jingui blinks at Jinshi, and he looks at you before standing up and dusting off his robes, taking Jinshi's hand as he leads him outside of the room.

"The maids said not to watch a woman get dressed to respect her privacy." Jingui waves at you as he steps outside of the room, and you laugh at Jinshi's baffled expression. You stick your tongue out at him, lips curled into a smile as the door shuts.

He looks betrayed.

You wonder what kind of parenting the maids did to end up with Jinshi, but you don't ask. You let the maids dress you for the day, and you yawn as you step out of the room, ruffling Jingui's hair as you walk off. He trails behind you, holding your hand as

"Are you not going out with me?"

"Back to work." You hum. "I manage the estate now, you know? Lotssss of paperwork."

"Like diedie?"

"Kind of." You hum. "Diedie does more than niang, though."

"If you leave, does that mean you will have no more work?" He looks up at you.

"I can't do that. You will have to have yeye send someone else to manage the estate." You hum, pulling the doors to your study open. "Bring some snacks."

The maids nod.

"Oh, and you." You point at Jinshi. "Out."

He feigns offense, raising a brow. "What did I do?"

You open your mouth to start listing, and he grumbles. "I get it."

You smile. "Don't you have errands to run with Maomao?"

"She's looking for medicine."

"You should help her out." You hum. "The wilderness out here is quite scary. You wouldn't want someone to hurt her."

Jinshi hangs his head as he steps out of the room.

The day passes without fret, and you watch as the sun sets and you wash up for bed, the heat in the bath gentle against your skin as you take a bath by yourself. Jinshi stays with Jingui to help him wash up, and you tell the servants to stay out of the bath while you wash up. Jinshi leaves first with Jingui, and you leave last, nodding at the servants as they all rush in to wash up.

"I wanna go with niang." Jingui reaches for you as you carry him, lips curled upward.

"Hear that?"

"But diedie spends so much more time with you!" He feigns hurt.

"Exactly!" Jingui sticks his tongue out, and you laugh, cheeks warm. "I have to leave niang soon!"

"I'll take you to bed with niang." You smile. "Hear that, Jinshi? He's niang's boy."

Jinshi pouts, faking annoyance.

You tuck Jingui in for bed first, looking over a book as you stroke his hair, and a branch snaps outside of your window as your hand flies to the sword on the wall.

You whistle for the hawk to yell, sliding out one of the swords for decoration as you hold your weight against the intruder, and you watch as his eyes dart to your son. He disregards you as he aims for Jingui, and you slide your blade to his stomach, kicking him. He lands on the ground with a thud, and you hold your sword above his neck, forcing him down. Your weight isn't enough, and he throws you off of him as you throw your sword at him. It's not sharp enough. It won't cut him.

You throw yourself at him instead, his blade grazing your face as your hands wrap around his throat, your hair a mess as it falls around him, and you hold down until his face turns purple and he no longer thrashes against your grip.

At this point, you expect the maids to rush in. Instead, the first one to come is Jinshi, his thumb brushing the wound on your face as he checks your body in panic.

"Beloved, are you alright?"

"Jingui is fine." You hum, trying to pull your face from his hands.

He tightens his grip instead, staring into your eyes. "You. You're hurt."

"It's fine." You try again as the maids rush in, and you have the guards pull him to the prison. Jinshi doesn't move once, hands still on your face, only trailing down to your shoulders when you crane your neck to talk to the guards and maids.

"Will you be alright, madam?"

"I'll be fine. It's no—"

"Bring me ointment." He tells the maid. "At least let me do that much for you."

The maid looks at you for confirmation, and you nod.

"Get off of me." You push him gently, standing up as he lands on his butt. "Pretending to be worried now? You didn't bother when we were still married."

"We are married." Jinshi whispers, getting up to hold your face in his hands again. "Come on. Let me treat the wound before it turns into a scar."

"Wouldn't that be better? Then I would be uglier." You tilt your head as he takes the ointment from the maid. His fingers brush over your cheek as he leans in to take a look at you properly, and you look to the side as he applies the ointment. Now that you look at it, his face is awfully close to yours. You take note of the blush on his face as he does, and his fingers are cool against your cheek as he applies the medicine. You don't give him a reaction, and he sighs.

"Beloved, you will never be ugly to me." He mumbles, leaning in further, breath mixing with yours, and you stare at him through your lashes, wondering if he would do something.

"Diedie, are you kissing niang?"

You pull away from Jinshi abruptly, and Jinshi looks to the side, face red.

"You're awake?" You get up to hold Jingui, and he rubs his eyes.

"Niang, are you hurt?"

"It was just an intruder. No worries, er." You smile. Jingui reaches for your cheek, trying to touch the wound as Jinshi holds his wrist gently.

"Mommy has medicine on. You're going to rub it off." He hums, taking Jingui from your arms instead. "Die will hold you instead."

"Can we sleep together?"

Jinshi freezes up, blinking at you as you freeze up too, blinking slowly at Jingui.

"Can we?" He pouts.

"I'll keep watch." Jinshi nods. "Maybe another time. Niang is still mad at Diedie."

"You can rest with diedie for the night. Niang has to clean up after the mess." You hum, kissing his cheek. "Niang will go find you in the morning."

"I can clean up." Jinshi frowns.

"It'll be fine." You hum. "The heavenly emperor assigned me to this residence, so I shall fulfill his will."

"He is my father. He would not mind if I were to help my own wife—"

"There's no need." You smile firmly. "Keep your hands clean of my dirt."

You shut the door behind you as you follow the maids to your office, and Jinshi presses his lips to your son's head, resting your son's head on his shoulder as he hums.

"Um, Sir." One of the maids whispers. "If I may... the mistress has a bed in her office. Perhaps the boy could rest there?"

"You think so?" He chuckles. "I'll keep watch for the night. Please lead me there."

He wanders through the residence, the red poles dark in the night, even with the lanterns lit. The floor is crafted of white, and the intricacies of stone along the pillars are dusted gold, and he wonders how much of it had been brought back to life by you. It eats him alive, even with your son in his arms, he wonders if you had worked out to be able to carry your son one day, even if he were too old to be carried.

The stars twinkle in the distance, and he lets himself smile.

"Mistress? May the child borrow your bed?"

"Meimei," You grumble. "I thought I told you to check on them, not bring them to me."

"The boy missed you."

You sigh. "Come in."

"I shall guard." Jinshi nods.

"You may rest as well." You hum. "I shall be heading to the prison tomorrow. I just need to send the hawk."

Jinshi watches as you attach the note to the hawk, and he gets up to hold your face again. "Why not leave Jingui to Meimei? I'll fetch Maomao to see if there's a better ointment for your face to prevent scarring."

"I told you, I am not bothered by such trivial matters."

"It matters to me." He mumbles. "Tomorrow."

"I must interrogate the criminal tomorrow."

"Then right now."

"You do not dare to wake her up for something so minuscule." You glare at him. "Rest with Xiaogui today. I shall call for the two of you tomorrow after dealing with the assassin."

"You must rest well." Jinshi mumbles, kissing your forehead gently. "Please."

You grimace at the kiss. "Very well."

You interrogate the assassin in the morning, sighing when he reveals the target was your son. It must have been a jealous consort or something. You wonder if she thought he would be next in line for the throne since the emperor let the boy call him Grandpa. The consort is some low-ranking one in the main palace, and you don't bother sparing him any mercy, telling the guards to kill him and send his head as a warning. That ought to teach her.

"The eunuch and boy are looking for you."

"Send them to my tea room. I'll see them there."

"Mistress, would you like a change of clothes?" Another maid asks.

"No need." You mumble. "It's fine to go like this."

"What tea shall I prepare?"

"Honey ginger." You hum. "And some cookies for the child."

They nod as you open the door to the room.

"Niang!" Jingui runs up to hug you, and you hum.

"Did you sleep well?"

He nods. You let Jinshi carry him as you work on the papers, and you speak up after Jingui gets drowsy. Perhaps he had been living in a life of assassinations and you were not aware. It would make you feel most awful if he was.

"Are they common?"

Jinshi raises a brow.

"The assassins."

Jinshi shakes his head. "Not in the imperial palace. The emperor has the most security for him compared to anyone."

"I see." You mumble. "How about Maomao? Surely people try poisoning her because she is close to you?"

"She is immune to poisons."

"Right." Your lips quirk up. "I'll send her with a gift this time. I'm sure she'll appreciate it."

Jinshi raises a brow, significantly worried. "Not a poison, right?"

"No promises." You grin.

Jinshi spends the rest of his time trying to spend more time with you and your son, desperation practically reeking off his skin as he sticks to you like a lost puppy without an owner, and the maids start gossiping with you about the potential marriage partner. You snort, telling them that there was no reason he would want a woman who had been used before. You avoid telling them the truth out of an unknown fear. You don't know what stops you. Perhaps you are still worried that he loves Maomao and is only doing this for his blood. Maybe he isn't being honest with you.

It takes a week for him to get to visit you at night, and another week for him to be allowed in your chambers. Maomao reminds him that he can only spare a week here per the emperor's orders, but he pays no mind. He is sure that the heavenly emperor would not mind him spending more time with you. He's sure the old man knew it. After all, he had given him a knowing smile when he had told him to travel with his son and Maomao. It made him feel as though the emperor were up to something. Perhaps he had known Jinshi would see you here.

It is the third week that he had stayed past his welcome when he sits down for a drink with you.

"Play with me." He holds the board with him. "I miss playing wuziqi with you."

"Hm. What do I get if I win?" You reach for the white, placing it down in the center.

"Whatever you want."

"I haven't played in a long time." You hum. "Your turn."

"May we have a heart to heart talk?"

"Be my guest." You hum.

"Why did you leave?"

"You took an interest in Maomao." You hum, placing another bead down. "And I ran away before you could divorce me."

"I did not wish to divorce you." He frowns.

"The whole palace was talking about it, and the emperor did not stop me, so I decided to leave." You shrug.

"I took Maomao in because I wished that she would prescribe some medicine for fertility."

"We had a son, no?"

"We did, but I had been taking medicine prior to that prescribed by her."

"You wanted her for her wisdom just like you wanted me for mine." You hum. "It was a fear, or maybe I just saw myself in her. She is my age, after all."

"Our age." Jinshi reminds. "We are all the same age."

"I suppose." You shrug. "But it felt like I was replaced."

"You were not."

"There was no way to confirm. Not when you had been trying to shove honey down her throat, anyway." You hum. "Four."

He clicks his tongue, stopping you. "What do I get if I win?"

"I suppose you get to bed me." You mumble. "Assuming you haven't bedded Maomao."

"I have not." He clenches his jaw. "I have not touched another woman in years. I am not as so much of a degenerate as to bed women who are not my wife."

"Who knows." You hum. "Four."

"I am not able to bed women there, anyway. After all, I am an eunuch."

"Except I heard Maomao found out you were not one."

"Ah." He freezes up, stopping your newly formed row of four. "That much was an accident. I suppose I saw fragments of you in her."

"Perhaps you had just found her beautiful." You hum. "I most certainly did. She is quite smart, drawing freckles on her face to hide her radiance."

"I found her beautiful, but only because she had reminded me of the plum blossoms on the day I met you." He smiles. "I win."

"What would you like?"

"Let me bed you, please." He whispers. "My wife. My beloved. Let me bed you."

"You must be desperate for some touch." You take off your outer robe, letting the maids know to retire for the night. "Very well."

"You may say no." He whispers, forehead pressed to yours, eyes genuine as he looks at you. "I am not forcing you."

"I don't care if you are using me for your own pleasure." You mumble. "I have not been bedded in the same amount of time."

"Heavens, that burns me more than it should." He wastes no time in undressing, lips pressed to yours as he leads you to the bed, caging your body in as he leans over you, a leg pressed between yours, lips moving against yours messily as his yearning crashes into your body like a wave, his hands tugging at your robes desperately, freeing your skin from the silk and fabric, lips latching to your collarbone to suck, biting all to desperately, rutting into you as he were some rabid dog, his body craving yours as though you were some drug he could not live without.

His fingers slip past your folds as he had done before all the times he had slept with you, bone of his wrist brushing your clit as he slides a finger in with ease, his mouth moving up to your neck, sucking gently as he listens to the way your breath hitches and you whimper when his fingers brush your sweet spot, and he continues, fingers pressing hard as you squeak, sucking you as he pants, desperate to remember your scent for the next handful of months he would no longer be able to see you during. When you quiver around his fingers and flutter, he slides his fingers out, licking them as he pushes you onto the bed, lining himself up, staring down at you for one last promise of consent.

"We can stop." He whispers.

"No."

And that's all Jinshi needs.

Jinshi presses your hips down into the mattress, hips moving against yours as he fucks you, desperation all over his fingers, lips attached to your neck as he sucks, his own breathy ragged as he spends his own stamina satisfying you, passion bleeding past his fingers as his body consumes you, desperate to make up the lost time with you from before. At this point, he disregards how many passing maids will hear his own moans, too focused on the way your skin felt between his fingers and too focused on the way your head was thrown back in a bliss he hadn't seen you wear before.

He wondered how many years you went without being bedded.

Well, not that it mattered. He had probably gone the same amount of time without bedding someone. How could he? The guilt would have eaten him alive from the inside out. So, he channels all his lost years into you instead, groaning when you cum around him again, eyes teary and cheeks puffy, your lips red from his kissing earlier. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as your words become incoherent, slurred as he moves a hand down to play with your clit. You squeal as he does, squirming under his touch as he continues to hold you down.

"I love you." He whispers, tears in the corner of his eyes as you can barely hear him.

"I love you." He repeats, with his chest this time, tears splattering onto your chest as he whimpers.

"I love you so much." He gasps as his thumb speeds up on your clit, making you gasp sharply at his confession, your head spinning.

You gush around him again as he finally feels himself reach a high, heart racing against his ribcage as he groans, crashing into you as he pumps you full, resting his head on your collar as you both catch your breaths, and Jinshi feels himself get hard in you again, his shoulders tensing as he does. He can't. He's going to break you, and you're never going to talk to him ever again. He's going to ruin you like he did years ago, and the universe is going to punish him by taking you away again—

"More." You whimper. "Until you've had your fill."

"I'm going to break you." He whispers.

"I'm sure Jingui wouldn't mind having a sibling..." You whisper back.

Jinshi's pupils dilate as he starts again, and you yelp as he goes without warning, a mix of your cum and his making a squelch with each thrust of his. It's lewd. It sounds like the most sinful thing in the world, yet Jinshi thinks of it as music to his ears, all too focused on pleasing you and getting rid of his pent-up lust, your body finally under his as he's waited all these years. He thinks of it as some kind of blessing, to be able to consume your sense as wholly as he used to, only this time sure that you weren't crying because of something he did. He still had lots of making up to do for you, but he supposes this is a start.

You gush around him another time, crying over how it hurt, but still no safe word. He laughs something between a chuckle and scorn, thrilled at the way that you looked like that under him. The maids had been whispering about how you had never bedded anyone once despite your status as supposedly single in the residence, and it made his head spin with possessiveness at the thought that you had still been loyal despite how much he hurt you. He would make it up, he promised. He would stay until the morning this time, and you would get to wake up in his arms like you used to.

The thought makes his hips stutter into yours as you're flooded with warmth a second time, your moan depraved as you feel him fill you again, the white from the sex staining the sheets and your thighs, and you both catch your breath this time, and Jinshi rests his forehead on yours, heavy breaths slipping past his lips as he stares into your eyes, hand moving to brush the hair from your face as you stare at him through glassy eyes.

"I'll be here when you wake up." He whispers. "I'll be here in the morning."

You close your eyes, nodding to the best of your ability.

"I'll kill you if you aren't."

He laughs, rolling over to rest on his back, fingers intertwined with yours as he rolls to his side to look at you.

"You're sticky." You grimace.

"And?" He hums. "So are you."

"We need a bath." You grumble. "I should call a maid to clean me up."

"That will be tomorrow's problem, beloved." He hums, lips curling upward. "Lay with me, my dear."

"If you insist, my love."

You help Maomao and Jinshi pack up their things to go, sending small gifts for the journey with them, and you laugh when Maomao thanks you profusely for the fritillaria unibracteata, and you wave it off as nothing big, a smile on your lips. She promises you that she'll owe you one the next time you need something from her, and you chuckle as she gets onto the carriage with Jingui. Your son gives you one last kiss before getting on as well, and only Jinshi stays behind and refuses to let you go, brushing his thumb over your knuckles as he talks to you.

"Will you... return?"

You shake your head, lips curled into a smile. "Unless you would like to stay?"

"Would you let me?"

"No. I would let Jingui stay, though." You smile at your son peeking at you through the window.

"You would met Jingui stay?" He gasps.

"Yeye would not be happy." Jinshi reminds. "We will return to pick niang up, alright?"

"I will tell yeye to let you come with Jingui next time." Your son stares into your eyes, eerily serious, and you smile.

"Tell yeye I said hi."

Jingui motions for you to come over instead, pressing his lips to your cheek through the window as you laugh, lips curled into a smile as you give him one back. He giggles, reaching his hand out the window to hold yours, and Jinshi shakes his head at his son. He leans down to press a kiss to your cheek, making Maomao gag in the carriage. He takes your other hand and presses your knuckles to his lips, a smile on his face as he hums against them.

"I shall return for you."

"I shall be waiting."

Jinshi lets go of your fingers, not without one more kiss to your lips, lifting his sleeve to hide the two of you from your son and Maomao as he does. You roll your eyes once he pulls away, and you nod at them as they leave. You stay in place until the carriage is long gone, and you hum, heading back to work with the maids to manage the estate.

When spring comes the next year, the wound on your cheek is gone, a golden carriage arrives, and you laugh as Jingui jumps out of it into your arms, much bigger, smile much brighter. Jinshi steps out next, offering you a hand to pull you up as he introduces the new manager of the estate. Maomao grins at you, whispering about the trade, and you let her know there are farms upon farms of medicine in the land, only for her to grin cheekily at you. You suppose she has her much wanted freedom now.

"Shall we go?" Jinshi offers his hand to help you up as Jingui holds his hand out for you on the carriage, and you smile.

"We shall."

And finally, you are home.

#jinshi x reader #apothecary diaries #apothecary diaries x reader #jinshi #GUHHH #reader insert #it's almost 2 weh #Kusuriya no Hitorigoto x reader #Kusuriya no Hitorigoto #bro this was supposed to be about chocolate why did it end up like this HOW DID WE. GET HERE #☾.nsfw #☾.fics

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f14fun · 3 months

Text

big mouth, big brain (!youtuber x op81) ~ part 3

synopsis: in which case y/n, a video essayist pops up on oscar's youtube feed, and he falls in love with the way she speaks and tells stories

smau + prose (2.7K words) ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist | prev ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

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I was going to be on a bloody yacht.

He led me down a winding path that skirted the beach, the sound of the waves growing louder in the stillness of the night. As we walked, the anticipation built between us. I could feel the warmth of his hand, the steadiness of his grip, and it was incredibly reassuring.

"Are you serious?" I asked, a mix of disbelief and excitement in my voice. "You have a yacht?"

"Well, it's not exactly mine," he admitted with a grin. "But a friend of mine owns it, and he owes me a favor."

I laughed, shaking my head in amazement. "This night keeps getting better and better."

He chuckled softly, the sound blending with the rhythmic crash of the waves. The moonlight danced on the water's surface, casting a surreal glow around us. As we continued along the path, a soft breeze played with my hair, carrying the salty scent of the sea. Each step seemed to deepen the connection between us, making the night feel like a secret we shared.

The path curved gently, revealing a secluded cove where a sleek yacht bobbed gently in the water. Its polished hull gleamed under the moonlight, and the sight took my breath away. "Wow," I breathed, unable to tear my eyes away from the elegant vessel. It was like something out of a dream, a luxurious escape from the ordinary world.

He grinned at my reaction, clearly pleased with the effect. "Impressive, isn't it?" he said, his voice tinged with satisfaction. "Just wait until you see the view from onboard."

Together, we descended the wooden steps leading to the dock. The yacht swayed slightly as we stepped aboard, the deck cool beneath my bare feet. Soft music played from hidden speakers, creating a soundtrack to the night's unfolding magic.

He led me to the bow, where a plush seating area awaited us. It felt like stepping into another realm, far removed from the worries of everyday life.

We stood together at the dock, looking away from the marina and towards the water that was calming rippling underneath the gaze of the shining moonlight.

My white dress swayed in the wind, my lips glossy under the moonlight, and his hand tightly wrapped around mine. Every once in a while we would sneak glances at each other, while we thought the other one wasn't looking.

Biting my lip slightly when he would look at me, I felt nervous and hot underneath his gaze. Squirming, he grabbed my chin.

"Y/N, don't do that do your lips," he trailed off, speaking softly to me as his thumb gently rubbed my chin. Looking up at him through my lashes, everything around us suddenly seemed to fade away.

"Okay-," I dwindled off, as his gaze sudden detracted from my eyes, and trailed down to my plump lips.

In that moment, he seemed to get closer. Putting my hand on his chest, I could hear his faint heartbeat get louder and pump faster. He was nervous. I, made him nervous.

He was softly exhaling, as was I. I could only hear our breaths, slowly getting faster in that moment. Oscar's head titled, and in that moment, I knew what was about to come.

Grabbing my jaw, he made direct eye contact with me. "May I kiss you, Y/N?" My heartbeat fluttered, and I swear I could feel something else beating as well.

"Of course," I softly replied. The moment I gave consent, he dove right in. Lips connecting, time seemed to stop.

One of his arms tightly gripped my waist, the other gripping my jaw as he was softly kissing me. He was so gentle, yet so passionate and loving. Groaning into my mouth as I wrapped my arms around his neck, I felt his neck muscles flex. Playing with his soft brown hair, my freshly manicured champagne-colored chrome nails gently scratched his scalp.

We kissed passionately for what seemed like hours. Though it must have been a few minutes of bliss in reality. I was the first to part, and noticed that my lip gloss and lipstick was smothered all around his lip area.

Chuckling I wiped it off and showed him the red Dior lipstick stain on my thumb that had resided on his cheek.

"Looks like I've been marked," he said, a playful glint in his eyes as he leaned closer. "Should I be worried about leaving a trail of evidence?"

I laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. "Depends on whether you want to be found," I teased, unable to resist the flirtatious banter that seemed to come so effortlessly between us.

He grinned, his gaze lingering on mine. "Maybe I don't mind being caught," he replied, his voice low and filled with suggestion.

I chuckled, enjoying the playful dance of words between us. "Oh, so you're admitting to being a wanted man?" I shot back, raising an eyebrow in mock suspicion.

His grin widened, and he leaned in closer, his breath warm against my cheek. "Only if you're the one doing the chasing," he whispered, his voice sending a delicious shiver down my spine.

I leaned back slightly, feigning contemplation. "Hmm, I do have a knack for tracking down elusive characters," I mused, my tone teasing yet tinged with genuine interest.

He chuckled softly, the sound like music in the stillness of the early morning. "Then I suppose I'm in trouble," he replied, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

I pretended to study him with exaggerated seriousness. "Well, you did lead me down this path," I pointed out, gesturing around us at the yacht and the tranquil sea beyond. "Seems like you've left quite a trail."

He nodded, his expression turning more earnest. "It's a path I'm glad you decided to follow," he said softly, his fingers lightly tracing circles on the back of my hand.

I smiled, feeling a warmth spread through me at his words. "Me too," I admitted, my gaze meeting his and holding steady. "I guess we'll just have to see where it leads."

He leaned even closer, his lips brushing against my earlobe as he whispered, "I'm hoping it leads to more moments like this."

My heart skipped a beat at his confession, the intimacy of the moment both exhilarating and comforting. "I think we're off to a pretty good start," I replied, my voice filled with a mix of playfulness and sincerity.

Feeling even more bold, I chuckled softly, feeling a rush of playful energy between us. "I must admit, you wear it well," I said, holding up my thumb to show him the faint smudge of lipstick. "But you might want to be more careful next time."

He grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement. "Noted," he replied, his tone light yet tinged with a hint of flirtation. "Though I have to say, it's a small price to pay for such delightful company."

I felt a blush creep into my cheeks at his compliment, the warmth spreading through me like the first rays of morning sunlight. "Flattery will get you everywhere," I teased, unable to suppress the smile that tugged at my lips.

His gaze softened, the playful glint giving way to a more sincere expression. "I mean it," he said softly, his thumb brushing lightly against mine. "I haven't had this much fun in a long time."

The sincerity in his voice touched me, making my heart flutter in a way I hadn't expected. "I'm glad," I replied honestly, meeting his gaze with an openness that surprised even myself. "Tonight has been... unexpected, in the best possible way."

He nodded, his fingers intertwining with mine. "Sometimes the best moments are the ones we don't plan," he mused, his tone thoughtful. "Like finding a lipstick stain on your cheek."

I laughed softly, the sound mingling with the gentle lapping of the waves against the yacht's hull. "Who would have thought a little makeup mishap could lead to such a moment?" I said, shaking my head in amused disbelief.

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against my cheek. "Maybe it's a sign," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "That we're meant to leave a mark on each other's lives."

His words sent a thrill through me, the romantic notion echoing in the quiet space between us. "I like the sound of that," I admitted, feeling a sense of anticipation building between us like a rising tide.

He smiled, a softness in his eyes that made my pulse quicken. "Me too," he replied, his thumb tracing gentle circles on the back of my hand. "So, what do you say we continue this adventure? See where it takes us next."

I nodded, a surge of excitement and curiosity coursing through me. "I'd like that," I said earnestly, feeling a surge of gratitude for the serendipitous turn of events that brought us together on this yacht, under this moonlit sky.

As the moon held its vigil in the night sky, casting a silvery sheen over the yacht's deck, we settled into a cozy corner under a blanket. The soft glow of candles created an intimate atmosphere, illuminating the desserts before us—a plate of tiramisu and crème brûlée, their decadent aromas mingling with the salty sea air.

He poured us each a glass of champagne, the effervescent bubbles adding a touch of celebratory cheer to the serene scene. "To unexpected adventures," he toasted, his eyes sparkling with warmth as he handed me a flute.

I smiled, clinking my glass against his. "To seizing the moment," I replied, savoring the crisp taste of the champagne as it tickled my palate.

We shared the desserts, trading playful banter and lingering glances that spoke volumes in the quietude of the night. Each bite of tiramisu melted on my tongue, rich and creamy, while the crème brûlée offered a delightful contrast of smooth custard beneath a perfectly caramelized crust.

Between bites, we talked about our dreams and aspirations, our favorite travel destinations, and even our shared love for late-night escapades. The conversation flowed effortlessly, punctuated by moments of laughter and the occasional shared sigh of contentment.

"I guess we've hit the apex of the evening," he quipped, his tone teasing yet filled with affection, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

I chuckled softly, enjoying the playful reference. "Well, if this is the apex, I can't wait to see what the straightaway looks like," I replied, matching his playful banter with a hint of flirtation.

He grinned, his fingers tracing idle patterns on the back of my hand. "Trust me, the view from the podium is even better with you by my side," he murmured, his voice low and intimate.

The warmth of his words sent a shiver down my spine, mingling with the gentle breeze that caressed our faces. The night around us seemed to fade into insignificance, leaving only the two of us in our private world aboard the yacht.

Leaning closer, our gazes locked in a silent agreement of shared desire, we savored each bite of dessert as if it were a testament to the sweetness of this moment. The occasional brush of fingertips, the soft exchange of smiles—it all spoke of a connection that went beyond mere words.

As the yacht rocked gently on the tranquil waters, I found myself drawn to him more than ever, my heart racing with a mix of excitement and anticipation. This night, filled with laughter and stolen glances, had woven a tapestry of intimacy that I never wanted to unravel.

"I'm glad you invited me," I confessed softly, breaking the silence that had settled between us like a comforting embrace.

His gaze softened, a tender smile playing on his lips. "I couldn't imagine sharing this with anyone else," he admitted, his fingers entwining with mine in a gesture that spoke volumes.

"And hey, if things go really well, I hear they offer Australian citizenship with every marriage," he teased, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he leaned closer.

I couldn't help but laugh at his playful suggestion, feeling a surge of affection for his sense of humor. "Are you trying to bribe me with dual citizenship now?" I quipped back, a playful twinkle in my eye.

He chuckled, his fingers gently squeezing mine. "Hey, it's just a perk," he replied with mock seriousness, his smile widening into a grin that lit up his face.

I leaned closer, teasingly narrowing my eyes at him. "Well, I'll have you know, my love can't be bought with citizenship perks," I teased, my tone light but tinged with warmth.

His grin softened into a look of genuine fondness. "Good to know," he murmured, his gaze lingering on mine as if trying to capture every detail of this moment.

The night air around us seemed to hum with possibility, as if the universe itself was conspiring to weave our destinies together. I found myself drawn to him in ways I couldn't fully articulate, my heart singing with a melody that resonated with his presence.

"But if you keep feeding me dessert like this," I added with a playful wink, "you might just convince me otherwise."

He laughed softly, the sound like music to my ears. "Consider it a delicious bribe, then," he replied, his eyes sparkling with affection.

We watched as the moonlight danced on the surface of the sea, casting a spell of tranquility over us. Time slowed to a leisurely pace, allowing us to savor each moment, each stolen glance, and each shared smile.

As the clock struck midnight, marking the transition into a new day, we remained on the deck, wrapped in each other's warmth and the promise of what lay ahead.

And as we eventually bid farewell to the night, reluctant to let go of the magic we had found, I knew that this evening had woven our hearts together in a tapestry of hope and possibility.

Hand in hand, we returned to the shore, our laughter echoing against the quiet backdrop of the ocean. The night had been a gift—a testament to the beauty of chance encounters and the transformative power of shared experiences.

And as we looked towards the future, I couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement, knowing that our journey together had only just begun.

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yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and 233,152 others

yourusername: ignore the elephant in the room (twitter)

view comments

user1: alrrr, aesthetic queen

user2: not them using their own drunk paparazzi pics in their post, it's giving iconic shit

user3: I AM NEVER FORGETTING THOSE TWEETS THEY WERE FUCKING HILARIOUS GIRLLL

user4: nahhh nawt the "pls pls pls gimme ur babies"

user4: IN TEARS. 😭😭

user5: she must've been HELLA DRUNK to post those

user6: oscar too LMFAOO

user7: i know she just woke up feeling like shit, checked her phone, then wanted to kys

landonorris: those tweets...

landonorris: pr wants to talk to both of you...😭

yourusername: oh god oh god i'm in trouble

yourusername: little old me, a content creator online did the single handedly worse possible thing not to do: drunk post

oscarpiastri: LMFAO GET WRECKED🫵🏻🫵🏻

landonorris: what are you laughing about ur probably in trouble too 🫵🏼

user8: LMAOOO lando got their ass

user9: he said "check urself" before u check her

oscarpiastri

liked by yourusername, landonorris and 212,655 others

oscarpiastri: she's too cute, so i asked to be her boyfriend

view comments

yourusername: "can I be your boyfriend" >> "can you be my girlfriend" 🧡🧡🤤🙌🏼😇😍🥰🥰🥰😘

user1: "can I be your boyfriend" >> "can you be my girlfriend"

user2: "can I be your boyfriend" >> "can you be my girlfriend"

user3: "can I be your boyfriend" >> "can you be my girlfriend"

user4: "can I be your boyfriend" >> "can you be my girlfriend"

user5: wow mate, you really think you're winning in life

oscarpiastri: i really am. she was doing donuts on my dick last night

yourusername: OSCAR DELETE THAT BEFORE ADMIN SEES SKSKKSKS

oscarpiastri: well... you didn't deny it

landonorris: oscar jack piastri. you are going to give admin another fucking heart attack.

mclaren: 👁️👁️🕵🏼

user6: LMAOOOO GN

this comment thread has been deleted

user7: DID YOU SEE THE DELETED COMMENT THREAD LMAO

user8: i hope someone screenshotted ts and put it on twitter lol

user9: ughhh i love them so much

landonorris: congrats guys!! mawmaw yi pawpaw 🧡🫵🏼

liked by oscarpiastri and yourusername

yourusername: can i be your girlfriend, oscar? 🧡

oscarpiastri: can i be your boyfriend, y/n? 🧡

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

author's note: ty guys for reading this fic! 😍🫶🏾

473 notes · View notes

p4ranormaluv · 9 hours

Text

SOMETHING RED — 성훈

you thought when sunghoon finally found you he’d rip your guts out— but no! turns out he just wants to be in your guts.

PAIRING: ghostface!sunghoon x f!reader

GENRE: smut, thriller

CONTENTS: stalker ex!hoon, dom!hoon, sub!reader, autumn setting, murder, brief desc. of dead body, chase scene, dub-con, knife/fear play, blood/pain kink, injury, degradation/praise, petnames: bunny/sugar, rough sex, oral sex, hoon grips reader’s neck but no choking, hair pulling, spanking, size kink, orgasm control, fingering, squirting, over stim, creampie, one neck bite, passing out

WC: 5.1k

NOTE: spooktober fic #1 👻 yunah version of this fic here!

WARNING: i posted a yunah ver. of this fic under this account! so if it looks familiar that’s why! i don’t have any other accounts i post my works on currently, and if i do i will add them in my navigation or bio. if you see someone stealing my works please lmk.

you’re responsible for the media you consume! i tried to tag everything but there may have been things i missed.

“i had a really good time tonight, y/n.” your date smiles as you stand at your front porch.

“yeah, me too.” you reply, and you’re telling the truth.

after almost 4 years since you fled away from your hometown, and your ex (sunghoon, or rather ghostface, as the civilians like to call him), you’ve finally gone on a date.

it honestly should have been perfect. it was a simple evening. you went for ice cream and afterwards walked around a nice park to talk and feed the ducks, appreciating the beautiful colors the trees are turning. your date is an absolute gentleman, he won’t stop smiling at you and laughs at all of your stupid jokes. he’s acted like nothing but an overall sweetheart the entire time.

and yet, that’s the very thing that was wrong with the date in your mind.

it was simple, perfect, sweet…

no tension or skip of your heart beat, no wondering what will happen next. there was just…no thrill.

you think sunghoon has really fucked you up. even after all this time you’re still comparing people to your ex. your crazy, obsessive, killer ex.

god, sometimes you even catch yourself wishing he’d pop up in your life again. but after you found out it was him who was killing all of the people in your life and town, anyone who he deemed as getting in the way of your relationship, you panicked and immediately called the police.

no one has seen him since, evidently. you certainly haven’t.

but do you really wish you would? if he saw you again he’d probably kill you.

“y/n?” your date says gently, breaking you out of your stupor as you blink at the man in front of you, noticing how he’s gotten significantly closer than when you last noticed.

your porch light’s obnoxious hum is the only other sound as he gazes at you, giving you a hopeful, prompting look— sort of like he’s expecting something. you think you know what it is, but you suddenly feel like you’ve turned to stone.

“we’ll go out again, right?” he whispers as his face inches closer and closer, smiling at you sweetly.

“i’ll— i’ll text you.” you vaguely answer.

your date laughs again even though you haven’t said anything funny, raising a single hand to gently hold your arm as he finally realizes he’s gonna have to take full initiative. puckering his lips, he leans into yours as he shuts his eyes. you don’t do anything except let your eyes bulge out of your skull, before at the last second turning your head, causing his kiss to land on your cheek instead.

he pulls away while blinking widely in surprise, before his cheeks bloom a pink blush and he laughs—…again. it’s starting to be less charming and more annoying.

“you’re so cute.” he says, thinking you’re just shy.

“goodnight, y/n. i’ll see you soon?”

“sure!” you lie. “goodnight!”

you wave before immediately shutting your door.

you sigh tiredly, appreciating the beautiful glow of the moonlight that gently illuminates your otherwise dark house.

flipping the switch that lights your stairs, wood creaking beneath your feet, you walk to your bedroom. the night’s air is fresh, and the soft sound of rustling leaves always helps you calm down. so you open your bedroom window, letting the gentle breeze spread goosebumps across your arms.

moving to your dresser, you grab a tank top and shorts along with some panties before going into the bathroom to take a shower. you sit your fresh clothes on the bathroom countertop, stripping off your dirty clothes and letting them pool at your feet.

when you get in the shower you feel your previous stress melt off of you with the warm water, all thoughts and worries forgotten— temporarily at least. after about twenty minutes you step out, quickly wrapping a towel around you as the water dripping off your body and the chill in the air makes you shiver.

you move to grab your dirty clothes left on the floor to put them in the hamper, but your underwear is missing.

“what the heck,” you mumble to yourself, shaking out the clothing in your hands, checking if the item wasn’t just tangled amongst them.

“looking for these?” a voice— his voice— asks.

you gasp as your body jolts, feeling your heart spike in your chest when you look up to see ghostface standing at the bathroom’s open door.

he’s wearing his mask, signature big butchers knife in his hand as he twirls around your panties from it’s sharp point.

and…blood.

blood is on his hands and dripping off the weapon’s edge.

“y’know, i expected you to still be anxiously locking all the entrances of your house for a while longer, but you stopped only a year into moving here…” he thinks aloud with sarcastic wonder, lifting up his mask to let his eyes drink in the image of you clutching your towel to your chest.

sunghoon lets your panties slip off the knife and drop back onto the floor before stepping closer to you.

he moves slowly, making your panic worsen as he corners you into the bathroom like prey. a small, frightened noise comes from your chest when your back hits the wall, sunghoon’s face closer than ever as you watch his lips raise into a smirk.

“can you tell me why that is, bunny?”

your body trembles at the nickname that hasn’t been directed to you in years.

sunghoon started calling you that after one of the first dates you went on, the two of you watched a scary movie and you criticized the characters who were so easily killed.

“do you think you could do any better?” sunghoon had asked, smiling at you patronizingly yet fond.

“well, yeah? they always get killed cus’ they do something stupid. like lock themselves in one room or crawl through a fucking cat door.”

“and what would you do?”

“run.” you had simply answered.

“well?” sunghoon drawls, hot breath puffing into your face as he stands practically against you.

his knife is still raised, gently grazing the tip over your cheek as his eyes follow the movement.

“who’s blood is that?” you struggle out, feeling the crimson liquid trickle down your neck.

“drop your towel.”

“w— what?”

“i said drop your fucking towel, y/n.” he grits, moving the knife to apply harmless pressure to your neck— but it’s there, and it’s threatening.

the damp fabric lands with a thump on the tile floor, leaving your nipples to harden from the bite in the air.

“should have left that window fucking shut…” you whisper, but sunghoon catches it with his close proximity.

he steps back just enough to run his perverted eyes all over your body, weapon moving from your neck down to your breasts.

you inhale shakily, sunghoon chuckling under his breath.

“yes, you should have. although it wouldn’t have mattered. i came in through the front door that you also conveniently forgot about.” he replies to your statement. “which brings me to my question that i asked first, why have you been leaving everything unlocked, y/n?”

you glare up into his eyes with wavering bravery, sunghoon finding you to look more like a scared, defenseless animal.

you don’t speak, trembling lips pressing into a thin line. sunghoon slides the flat of his knife over your nipple, spreading the leftover blood across your skin and causing you to flinch as a small moan escapes you.

“you missed me.” he states with suffocating confidence, seeing right through your facade— knowing how you really feel.

“you still love me. don’t you, bunny?”

he presses his chest against yours, the rough material of his shirt giving stimulation to your sensitive nipples as he moves the weapon back up towards your face. the steel blade swipes across your mouth, staining your lips red.

sunghoon tugs down your bottom lip with his thumb, rubbing slowly side to side before pushing inside your mouth. you take it without thinking, staring up into his eyes as you suck on his appendage, wincing at the steely taste of blood.

“still such a slut.” he marvels fondly, eyelids drooping as his breath gets a little heavier. you bob your head just slightly, like you would do to his cock, and sunghoon reacts with a groan. your pussy clenches at the sound.

“well, you didn’t exactly answer my question, bunny. but since you’re so cute and helpless right now, i’ll have some mercy and answer yours.”

he pulls his thumb back and you don’t release it until it comes out with a wet pop, sunghoon groaning lowly before slamming his lips onto yours. he swallows your moans as his empty hand roams your body, fingers feathering over your bare pussy, trailing up to grope roughly at your breast before firmly wrapping around your throat.

you squirm. any shame has left your mind as you try and rub your cunt up onto sunghoon.

he’s playing nice for now it seems, pressing his jean clad thigh between your legs and letting you hump against him. you whine into his kiss as the denim makes contact with your clit, biting on sunghoon’s bottom lip unconsciously in pleasure.

he grunts at the slight pain, slapping your ass before gripping it roughly and digging his nails into your flesh.

you lick his bottom lip and suck on his tongue in apology, sunghoon’s nails retracting to rub soothingly over the skin that is now littered with red crescent cuts.

“god, i love you, bunny.” he groans lowly. “it’s your date’s blood.”

“h— huh?” you gasp, eyes widening as sunghoon stares deeply into your eyes. “you…did you kill him?”

“do you care?” sunghoon quips back cockily, but you recognize the tinge of jealousy in his tone. “he was too soft for you anyway. you like it when someone is rough and makes you feel dominated, don’t you? someone big enough to overpower you?”

he speaks in a dark tone, hand gripping your hip with possessiveness that’s sure to leave a bruise.

your breathing picks up again, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with emotions— though you’re not sure what any of them are.

“fuck you, sunghoon.” you spit, the man maniacally laughing with clear amusement.

“sure, sugar, later. right now i think i’m in the mood for a chase.”

he says this as he steps away from you, leaving you confused as he stares at you expectantly.

“well?” sunghoon lifts a brow, lowering the mask to cover his face completely again, gripping his knife a little tighter. “run, bunny.”

fear settles its anchor in your stomach and you take off like a bullet, water and blood dripping from your naked body as you run down the stairs. there’s only the sound of your panicked gasps of breath before ghostface’s heavy footsteps creak down the steps, coming right after you.

your first thought is to go the front door, but when you open it you're greeted with the massacred body of your date sitting in a bloody, gutted heap of red and pink mush.

you scream, immediately slamming the door shut as you choke on a gag that tickles up your throat.

ghostface makes it down the stairs, taking large but calm steps towards you as his knife gleams in the moonlight, black plastic eyes staring blankly at you.

“stop!” you cry, suddenly thankful for the wrap around layout of your house as you run right, out of the livingroom and into the hallway.

you can go to the kitchen, bedroom, or second bathroom.

everything is a dead-end except the kitchen, which has two escape routes to the outside: a latch window and the back door.

you quickly open the bedroom door to throw ghostface off and quietly sneak into the kitchen.

risking taking the time to carefully open a drawer and take a knife out— just in case, you then hurry over to the back door and turn the knob.

there’s the sound of something slicing through air before you yelp as it cuts into your hand, forcing you to jump away from the door.

“i wouldn’t do that if i were you.” ghostface warns as he walks in, creepily melodic with how he speaks.

you look back at the doorknob, seeing his knife stabbed into the wood from the force ghostface threw it with, your blood splattered in a small area against the white paint.

“now look at that, you made me hurt you.” he says with mocking sympathy, his dangerous tone making your knees feel weak with fear.

you keep switching your eyes from looking at the window to ghostface.

he just stands, watching with undivided attention as he can practically see the cogs turning in your brain, waiting for what you’ll do next like he’s watching a mouse in a trap. (or a bunny in a snare.)

you suddenly run out of the kitchen’s second entry, ending up at the living room again and booking it up the stairs. you wouldn’t have had time to make it out the kitchen window with ghostface right there, but maybe you can escape through your bedroom window. it’s already open, and even though your house is two stories, there’s a tree right next to it that will shorten the drop— if you can reach a branch without falling off the roof.

when you get to your bedroom ghostface is hot on your trail. you try to slam the door shut and lock it, but he presses against it from the other side right at the same time.

you push as hard as you can to shut the door, but ghostface has always been much stronger than you.

busting the door open, your body is flung backward as you land on the floor, knife falling out of your hands and sliding away from you.

you scramble on the ground to get it back, just barely grasping it in your hand before ghostface grabs and flips you over onto your back, ripping his mask off and letting it clatter to the floor.

“s— stop it, sung— sunghoon.” you struggle to get out from how your body and voice shakes, pressing your legs together in fear and ignoring the wetness between them as sunghoon cages your body with his limbs.

“oh, are you going to make me?” he challenges with no fear, the smile on his face clearly expressing that he doesn’t take a word you say seriously.

“go on then, bunny. take a stab at me.”

sunghoon drops his own knife from his hands, baring himself to your mercy.

your eyes widen, hands shaking as you pathetically raise the knife.

you look from his eyes to his vulnerable stomach that you could easily plunge the weapon into, and back up to his eyes again.

sunghoon slenders his gaze at you, as if to say ‘you can’t do it, can you?’.

you burst into sobs, dropping the knife and hiding your face in your hands.

sunghoon leans down to coo at you, running his fingers through your hair and kissing your forehead.

“i knew you couldn’t do it, bunny. i’ve been watching you ever since you left town, and you know what i found out?”

you take watery gasps, wiping off your tears so you can look up at sunghoon.

you know the answer, even in your messy state. it’s apparent throughout everything in your life, after all these years and all the decisions you’ve made.

“i—…that i n— never stopped loving you.”

“that’s right, sugar. couldn’t even bear to kiss your date, could you?”

you shake your head, cries reducing to sniffles as sunghoon cups your face with his still bloodied hands, the liquid beginning to dry as it feels tacky on your skin.

“it’s okay, bunny. you were a good girl, so i won’t punish you…too much. as for him— well,”

he laughs, but it sounds hollow, devoid of anything other than hate and rage. “he got what he deserved.”

suddenly sunghoon is picking up his knife and hoisting you up, your waist thrown over his shoulder as you gasp in surprise while he walks over to the bed.

sunghoon takes a handful of your ass, admiring how it jiggles when he jostles it in his hand before giving it a hard spank. you whimper and push back into his palm, wordlessly asking for more.

“slut.” he chuckles under his breath, throwing you roughly on the mattress a second later.

sunghoon places his knife on your nightstand as you sit up on your elbows to look at him curiously. he practically devours your body with his eyes as he strips off his shirt, your mouth watering at the revealed expanse of his tapered waist and sculpted abs. you can’t help but whine when he slowly pushes the waistband of his pants and underwear down, hard, huge cock slapping against his stomach wetly.

“missed this, bunny?”

you only whine, feeling like the desparate whore that you are for sunghoon as you blatantly squeeze and rub your thighs together, trying to bring any sort of relief to your needy pussy. you practically feel edged by everything that’s transpired so far.

“come.” sunghoon orders, pointing at the floor in front of him.

you know what that means, quickly getting off the bed and on your knees, looking up at him with pathetically begging eyes. he only acknowledges you with a piercing stare, picking up his knife again as he moves it beneath your hairline, pressing the cold, flat side of its blade into the nape of your neck.

“now suck.”

you’re eager, enveloping his dick into your watering mouth and pushing yourself as far down the long shaft as you can muster. you gag, sunghoon’s salty pre-cum making you salivate for more as you don’t pull off, only trying to push his cock deeper down your throat.

even as your eyes squeeze shut, choking around him— you don’t stop.

not until sunghoon roughly pulls you off by the hair, a deep sound coming out of you as your mouth is suddenly empty, gasping and coughing while a string of saliva hangs from your lips.

“did i say swallow me whole? dumb whore. suck.”

you immediately do as he says, apologizing with your eyes and pliant little hums around him as you envelope just the tip in your mouth, sucking on it delicately like a lollipop.

sunghoon bares his teeth at the teasing pleasure, watching your lips that are glossy with your own spit prettily wrapped around his big dick. you look so small and helpless like this: kneeling, naked, someone else’s blood drying on your body— as well as a little of your own.

sunghoon thinks you’re most beautiful like this. his slutty little bunny trapped in the snare he’s made just for you.

grabbing a painfully tight fistful of your hair, he slams your face against his pelvis. you’re reduced to choking sounds and sputters as you struggle to take the sheer size of him into your mouth, sunghoon continuing to catch you off guard as he starts bobbing your head up and down his shaft like a cock sleeve.

you cry and moan at the feeling of him using you like a cheap whore, your pussy throbbing with the need to be touched but being ignored— and it only turns you on that much more.

your scalp burns as sunghoon keeps yanking you by the hair, spit seeping out of the corners of your stretched lips and running down your chin.

“almost forgot what a dirty slut you could be, bunny. f— fucking shit!”

hearing sunghoon’s hard resolve crack, you’re hit with another wave of enthusiasm.

you swallow around him, doing your best to lick and suck whenever you get the chance between the harsh movements he controls you with. then you have an idea, and without a second thought you’re executing it.

moving a hand down to your pussy, you smear the generous wetness on your fingers, lifting them up to cup sunghoon’s balls, fondling them with ease thanks to your slick.

“god— fuck! good girl! that’s a good little whore. choke on my dick while you make me messy.”

you feel like you could almost cum just from sunghoon’s words, the tingly pain at your scalp, and the full mouth of dick you’re taking. moans almost rhythmically come from your throat as your free hand goes down to rub desperately at your neglected clit, hips making trembling movements at the pleasure that’s not enough while at the same time being too much.

“bunny, oh— damn. you really like me fucking your mouth, don’t you sugar?”

“mm—hmm,” you moan around him, sunghoon starting to snap his hips more aggressively. you feel his dick pulse in your mouth, a deep growl coming from him a moment later, signaling his soon release.

“you ready for me, bunny? you ready for my cum?”

please, please, yes— you want to say, but it only comes out as whimpers as his cock bruises the back of your throat.

your thighs begin to tremble as you feel yourself getting closer. sunghoon moans out, pressing his hips flat against your face as his dick throbs, pumping a huge load down your throat. that paired with the feeling of his knife pressing harder into your neck sends you into white hot ecstasy, shaking like a leaf and thighs clenching around your own hand as you ride it out on your soaked fingers.

sunghoon’s dick is dripping with your spit and his cum when he pulls out, still hard as a rock and catching his breath as he slowly jerks himself off, wincing at the painful pleasure after just cumming— but not able to stop as he’s mesmerized by how much of the both of you there is, mixing all together with each movement of his hand.

sunghoon then looks over at you just as you’re pulling your hand away from yourself, groaning as he sees the wet webs between your fingers.

“get on the bed, bunny. ass up.”

your movements are clumsy as you’re still weak from the hard orgasm, but you want more, so you do as he says. sunghoon gives you a helping hand, making sure you don’t fall as the both of you get on the bed.

sunghoon sits up on his knees behind you. your ass looks amazing in this position, and your legs are spread, completely unable to hide your dripping pussy from sunghoon’s hungry eyes.

you turn your head, looking back at him with fucked out eyes that ask for more. he smirks, placing both hands on either side of your hips before stooping low to go down on your sloppy cunt.

“oh— fuck, su— sunghoon!”

you’re so turned on, and if you really think about it (which you’re trying not to), you probably shouldn’t be— not after what he’s done.

and yet, here you are, whining like a whore as the ghostface killer fucks your pussy with his tongue.

he can’t get enough of your taste. he’s went years without it after all, and sunghoon finds he’s going feral now that you’re finally in his mouth again. he delves his tongue as deeply as it can go, paying attention to what movements make you cry louder. sunghoon makes sure to pull out and suck your puffy clit between his lips, proud at himself with how it makes your legs quiver, before shoving his appendage back inside your core and fucking it in and out of you.

“hoonie, please,” you beg, already needing release as you’re sensitive from your previous orgasm.

“no,” he barks, annoyed that he even has to separate his mouth from your pussy to speak, reconnecting with you immediately after.

you dare to whine defiantly at him, and sunghoon reacts by reigning his hand down on your ass.

the hit is hard, making your eyes widen and taking your breath away as the strength he uses on you is unexpected. you can feel your skin tingling and hot from where the slap landed, and somehow it just makes you feel even more needy.

sunghoon knows you liked it, he can tell by how your pussy is contracting around his tongue, making him smirk against you as he keeps eating you out with no mercy.

you wiggle your hips just slightly, side to side, unable to keep still as you just need more.

you feel sunghoon’s annoyed growl, the vibrations of it sending a shock of pleasure straight to your core. he spanks you again, right on the same spot as before. this time a sob is ripped out of your chest at the pain, your face burying into the bed.

“you’re a bad fucking girl, can’t even do what i want you to.” sunghoon grits as he removes his mouth and shoves two merciless fingers inside you instead, roughly curving them as his thumb rubs at your clit. the amount of pain and pleasure is equal now, making you want to pull away while at the same time, push closer. the sounds your pussy makes as sunghoon quickly moves his fingers are loud and should be embarrassing— yet all you can think about is how good he’s making you feel and how badly you need to cum.

“hoon, i— really i can’t— can’t take it!”

“oh you’ll take it, bitch. if you want me to fuck you with my cock by the end of this.”

“no— yes! please, want your cock!” you blubber, the thought of not getting it making you feel as if you could cry at any moment, that paired with how meanly sunghoon treats your desperate little pussy, fucking it like he wants you to squirt all over the sheets— yet refusing to let you.

“i’ll be good, hoonie! i’ll let you do whatever you want, just— let me cum!”

the man doesn’t say anything, fingers not stopping as you feel his other hand’s nails dig into the flesh of your ass again, leaving more claiming cuts into your skin.

“fine, filthy slut. cum.”

the relief and pleasure of finally letting go is too much, your hearing is reduced to a high pitched ringing, and you’re not sure if your eyes are shut or if your vision has blacked out.

when you come back to, you’re on your back, sunghoon’s hands all over your body as the look in his eyes looks like he’s truly lost it.

“hoon, can’t,” you pant out as he starts lifting your limp leg to his shoulder.

but he doesn’t stop, his frantic movements continue, only looking up at you with pupils you swear are blown out.

“you’ll let me do whatever i want, remember?” he speaks out roughly, his throat scratchy either from eating you out so vigorously or from being so turned on.

“even if you didn’t let me, i’d still do whatever i want with you.” he cruelly chuckles, smirking down at you. the points of his teeth remind you of a wolf.

guess you really are the bunny.

you whimper— and you’re not sure if it’s from fear or twisted arousal.

tears fill your eyes as you watch sunghoon grab his huge cock, jerking it a few times to spread his cum. (not that he needs to— you literally just squirted.) you can only imagine how big the stretch will be inside your tiny little pussy to fit his huge girth. you’ve taken it before of course, but your insides are crying out in sensitivity, and your head feels foggy, like you could fall back out of consciousness again.

“please, hoonie, please—“

you’re words are cut off by your own agonized cry as sunghoon’s cock feels like it’s piercing your guts, pushing and pushing until he’s down to the hilt.

then he starts thrusting into you with enough power that it pushes your head against the headboard, your hands moving up to brace yourself as your hiked up leg tightens around his shoulder.

despite everything, you can’t help the delirious moan you let out, feeling your pussy ooze more fluids you didn’t think you had at this point.

“my slutty little bunny, huh, y/n?” sunghoon almost coos, if it wasn’t for how his teeth are harshly bared.

“missed my big dick abusing your insides, didn’t you, bunny?”

you sob, tears racing down your cheeks as your hole helplessly clenches and suffocates on sunghoon’s huge, unforgiving length.

“admit it. admit you’re a dirty whore for me.”

“i am— i am, hoonie!” you pant out breathlessly, each of his bruising thrusts feeling like they punch the breath right out of you. your chest aches from the big gulps of air you take. “m’a whore, such a dirty whore for you, sunghoon— fuck, please!”

sunghoon’s pants almost match up with your own, his body starting to tremble as he moves to lean down on his elbows against the bed, the new position forcing your leg to stretch even further— causing sunghoon’s cock to ram even deeper inside you.

“you’re mine. you hear me, bitch? you’re fucking mine! don’t ever think i’m gonna let you run away from me again.”

“oh god— i’m cumming!” you scream, unable to even ask for permission or try to hold back as your body convulses with the waves wracking over your body.

the only thing that keeps the darkened edges of your vision from completely taking over is sunghoon’s dick driving into you, chasing after his own high as your pussy spasms around him. you’re almost too tight, your core literally unable to take his huge size anymore as sunghoon forces his cock in again and again, balls slapping crudely against you.

when he finally busts inside, sunghoon clamps his teeth down on your neck, the sensations overwhelming him as he fucks you full of his cum.

he doesn’t pull out, even when your crying doesn’t stop, he keeps your poor abused pussy plugged up with his full load by his huge dick.

once sunghoon catches his breath, he glides his tongue across his teeth, curious at the taste of blood in his mouth.

“hoon, you bit me.” you whine, pouting at him as you try to look where his teeth left bloody marks into the junction of your shoulder.

sunghoon sighs, and you can tell by the noise and how his eyes flit over the wound excitedly that it turns him on.

his tongue licks over the bite in apology, cleaning up the blood before pressing little kisses all over it.

“you make me crazy, bunny.” he whispers lovingly, eventually pulling away from your shoulder to hover above your face.

you stare at each other silently, before you tilt your chin up, begging for a kiss with pouty lips and shiny eyes.

sunghoon smiles, those wolfish teeth still poking through slightly as he leans down to capture you in a slow, passionate kiss.

it tastes like blood and cum.

your blood and cum.

the realization frightens you only a little bit, the stronger emotion being some sort of sick arousal.

sunghoon might be crazy over you, but he’s definitely made you crazy as well.

REBLOG/COMMENT TO MAKE AUTHOR SMILE

NOTE: divs by adornedwithlight

#enha ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚#dark content ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚#sunghoon smut #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon x reader #enhypen smut #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #ghostface #hard hours #hard thoughts #headcanon #drabble

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astralnymphh · 7 months

Text

copy that, romeo

— ellie williams was supposed to be your supervisor, not your object of infatuation ~ ♡

⋆❝ this is cordero tower, calling in.❞⋆

CHAPTER ONE: SUMMERTIME INTERLUDE . NEXT CHAPTER > ♡. pair; firewatcher!ellie x recruit!reader

♡. summary; it's 1995, and the angel crater national park welcomes you; a retrograde lookout all to yourself, a space nerd for a supervisor, and a whole summertime job spent in hues of sepia and juniper, waiting for the first sign of smoke. ninety–three days. you don't know her face, you share no breath— but by walkie–talkie, you know her voice.

♡. a/n; READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. CLICK HERE. DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist. PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS. ALSO THIS.

♡. content; EVENTUAL SMUT, narrator present, silly fourth wall breaking, a dash of comedy, slowburn (somewhat), living alone, long–distance pining, reader/characters are similar ages(mid–late 20s), depression, heavy metaphor usage, complicated poetry styles, mentions of organs, mentions of weaponry, metaphorical death, grim humor, drinking alcohol, drunk!ellie, drunken flirting (vaguely and bluntly), ellie jumpscare, uh-oh sassy masc apocalypse, she's corny and cheesy too (a dork), awkwardness, humiliation, lighthearted bickering, nicknames used. [lmk if i missed anything] . SERIES PLAYLIST .

WC; 6.1k+ ✮ thank you @trackinglessons for your sexy brain and beautiful ideas + custom art ✮ masterlist ✮ series masterlist ✮ ellie ref sheet

Summertime is the interlude between misery and Mondays.

May was a rough patch for you. A coagulated chapter within the spring world, a shunned ponder, red jello in the gradience of passage. Tempus, time. Early months hence were just as pessimizing, doubt is an arid reservoir in you. But, as a maypole sits a svelte giant in the sweet Beltane soil, braving an invisible smile whilst little ones— little laughters, spun prances and wraps of dainty satin to an ensnare on its long body, it weeped for its delicate capture. You; flesh coarse like timber, relate to the log standing, ensnared. Sunk in that gelatinous texture, unmoving as pressures collided with the surface outward, ripples everywhere yet incapable of sprinkling through you. Something would have to delve itself to drag you out.

Chapters; cusp of autumn to April, every single month, wound ‘round you. They each had separating colors, and spared turns to soundly fold your limbs and bulge your skin in ribbons. It snipped your circulation, shriveled the ripe breath in your skull and traded it for a pressure. A throb. Weight upon the cranium, you felt the narrowing cradle inside wilt from thought, drain from consciousness, and soften your stiff eyes locked on drywall. Hour to hour.

But those weren't the only things taunting you with a dance— expectations danced faster. Expectators, paired minds heaping expectations; yourself and the selves blackjacking their wants expressed as worries onto you. Stressful creatures, they are. Bosses, co–workers, energy vampires disguised as lover boys prowling about your workspace, general creatures of the retail world. God, they're like ravenous wolves snarling hunger through their teeth, slobber moonlight–bright of that dire carnality for variety meats. Depression just took the first serving before they could.

Even the domesticated places are a wilderness untamed.

Stress drained you of life. It softened your desire to even try. Gods are dulling, blamed you, on another dull morning where the trickling sound of coffee pouring drilled irk into your ears, rather than simply a trickle. Caffeine, a roast so void–black was brewed to un–drain you. Yet, it fuckin didn't.

Impugning was your everything, until it could no longer purify; Elaine. Emptiness. Hmm, you gave this state of vacuum–headed hollowness a name, keenly because it deserved so by its dismantling of your autonomy. You don't want it. It's not you. It's Elaine. A some–angel fallen out of grace, weary of its wander upon a washed up cove, beige toned and swept shivering–cold. Interested by the warmth your sundry organs pushed into its light silhouette.

And perhaps, if the bird was never freed from its heavenly cage, it would be powerless to pester you, to poke the meat inside with the pointy end of plumage.

Elaine was an organized assault on your wellbeing, moreso against the pulpy, pinkish-gray blob sitting ugly above your throat. Believe it, or assume it. A paralysis, moving shoulders from bed sheets proved farcical, running bristles over your teeth twice a day rhymes with nonsense, and midnight ink born to swirl and curtsy to convey thoughts gone rancid, goes unused atop the white flutter between your journal hardcovers. You have a morbid case of the seasonal blues, except this time, the season is beyond its blue hues. Spring, a fuckin’ kaleidoscope embellished. Blotches of big fuck you greens so vibrant you'd long to die from your tears, and an abstract spit of smell me reds thorny as your stomach brought to a scream for something. Anything.

It was a slow, banal descent into the jello.

January, floating atop the sweet delicacy, atop your bed.

February, the solidity gave out beneath you, goo subtly etching around your ankles, calves, elbows, unforgivingly cold when it first hit. When in reality, the bed was heating from your lay.

March, marrow goes heavy, your limbs at this time could not lift, your efforts waned, and satiating the rumble in you with sustenance was forgotten, as that rumble got so, so.. quiet.

April, the jello had stuffed your nose, your sockets, and lullabied your ligaments. You let it happen.

May.

You let yourself sink. Let yourself decompose and go mush in the head. Like a zombie.

The descent doesn't taste of sweet delight, but it also fails to churn your lips with a heavy saccharinity. Neutral, your hopeful side did say. Nothing, rationality slapped past your lips.

Five months, either a misery, or a Monday.

Yes Eve, a bite out of the Apocrypha will indeed fill this human abysm in me. Forbidden knowledge is my craving. Contraband of truth, bite to bite, I envy that I could not cope with its coating of my empty gut earlier.

Innocence is so dull. You are depressed, not a fucking saint for staying indoors, starving your rage.

But on came a crisp bouquet of biker–boy newspapers; ‘Hiring’, and a few scans further; ‘Do you harness a great love for the evergreen?’

A honed section in Missoula's local print— jobs. A publisher boldens and compresses enthusiasm sporadically; writing–on–the–wall hollers speckle themselves meticulously on the newsprint that strike a sense of obligation into the susceptible and soft–of–heart chunk of the population. A pert voice read with persuasion between your ears, gritty in tone and stereotypical of a middle aged ranger, vocals fried by cigarettes but as booming as a cannon.

“Do you care for the animals inhabiting our national sanctuaries?”

Abutting small paragraphs, the sagging belly of a black bear, tender caramel snout and snoopy–faced, fitted on its head a mustard yellow campaign hat labeled, ‘Smokey’. Its burly, blundering frame on all fours stood out over a comic–style vista of the Montana rockies, paws obscured by blocks of thickset text reading ‘Only you’.

Huh, a realistic depiction of Smokey Bear— over a not–so–realistic background, avant–garde.

Tree greens sprawly that didn't shout ‘Fuck you’ on your poor, sunken eyes searing for sleep and a twilight darkness. Sagey lichens that didn't draw out the spasms above your own bones, calling your regard to bring pin–sized problems and blemishes sprawling your own flesh out of the bliss of ignorance. Brunette muds with only a fleck of sun, a slice of earth dull, humble and unprocessed enough from benevolence to leave you unconsumed, unsunken. A mere slop and pudge in the future and wake of your walk. Nothing obnoxiously grand, nothing sanctimonious. Nature is by birth— righteous, regardless.

“Before we can be proud of our nation, our nation must be proud of us!”

The advertisement gropes for a summertime made free. A cyclopean sinkhole in the becoming of time. Recruits–in–waiting are called to bargain normalcy and the bustling cities plump with lumbering limbs of sheen–tight pantyhose shaded under short shapes of plaid skirts for boot–cuts n’ backpacks hefty with gear that could either save you the trouble of mountaineering by path, or trouble your time with a faulty snapping of two things. Rope and neck.

Too grim?

A months’–long moment of tension snapped at the pressure joint— Summertime the snapper. You'd be devoting ninety–three suns, ninety–two moons, and some two–million breaths of fir laden air up in Angel Crater National Park, northwest of here. Pupils flickering the double-page setup, you continue: A pictographic, old–fashioned lookout taller than the timber spires surrounding would be your station, your core of operations, for those three young and sunny months. Boxed provisions and supplies are guaranteed to ship every other week, and testimonies encourage even the anxious, balmy buzzes of your brain to sigh in solace learning that the weald creatures there— are mostly harmless, if you aren't bred an imbecile. Alongside, an appointed supervisor, whose name was never disclosed duly except for a scratch of text gingerly clasped in quotations reading, “E.R.W” trailing the mention of said supervisor. What’s required of you was delivered plain written and patent on that shoddy newspaper, held thick in your intrigued thumbs; Keep the forest from catching wild fire.

You fiddled the idea. Should I? Or should I wallow the summer away? Fiddled it anxiously, fiddled it needily, bumped the clumped rim of the newsprint on your cupid's bow in bending rumination, steadied it cause newspaper smells oddly good— but next to minutes racing hours upon musing, a conclusion had to knock your static looping of gloomdom in the butt.

One phone call, and the bird would be barred again. Pesterer, Elaine the Terrible, would be cast back where eyes can't roll over the cottony clouds. Just a couple fucking prods to your number–pad, might genuinely un–drain you.

Luckily, you aren't an idiot reared to take bullshit longer than meritted.

You took the job.

May 30th, 1995, 7:28 PM.

What does any clever pedestrian traipsing capricious terrain store in their pack to avoid total gangly–branch–grips–of–nature butchery?

Item one; Black nylons— scratch that, you aren't getting paid to snag at every kink and curl of the forest, tighties of gossamery fabrics are a no–go. Citywear stays citywear. Double scratch on those sweet, blackberry Mary Janes too prized and polished to muck up in shit of the earth. Immolating the rigid underside of some chunky hiking boots to the unruly woodlands is the adrenaline pinnacle of out–worlding, come on. It proves you've got a hardy backbone and the right row of teeth to chew what you've bitten off, sullying boots ‘till the color is forevermore stained. Backup boots are tradition, so that's item number two. Best get used to cargo, ankle–length overalls and miscellaneous graphic tees, cause the rockies’ fashion gurus can't get enough of ‘em!

Clothing, check.

Swathes of ropes twined pumpkiny orange and plenty of clanging anchors to bolt them in, goddesses and gods forbid you be tight on anchors. Medical kits— duh, did you trudge all from yonder just to die out here? This country is dicey, at the cuddly claw of a bear, or not. Hair ties, scrunchies you hoarded as a teenager in the eighties, disposable camera to suit your flaky memories, and an eclectic dump of nutty and fruity cereal bars galore. Unless you're allergic. Substitute.

Accessories and essentials, check.

Ah, and a spare pistol and switchblade in replacement of newcomer paranoia! Keep that hush–hush though. No matches or lighters, obviously.

True American, illegal weaponry, check.

All this paraphernalia bangs and clangs heavily on the polyester holding of your backpack, straining your scruff uncomfortably as you tiptoe, scarcely tumble, and tread lightly across a log. It creaks, it groans, it wobbles slightly over the blaring white rush of a stream, suctioning your heart–to–stomach when it grinds a wee bit louder than you thought it should.

“Shit!” you crimp your torso in and dart wary hands on the timber beam at your feet, assuming a gawky newborn–bambi–pose in hesitation, shuddering in cracked tones, “This can't be the right way..”

Hoping on an evaporated sun, you frazzlingly testify in repetitive thought that the map mailed by the rangers a week prior led you on this perilous and incorrect path.. for the last two days. Winding and wounding, literally— your bruises are measureless and on top of that ache your skin to want no more of this. But, you have to. A boulevard of brown, short and stout, wrung unyielding from one gray side to the greener other, a shortcut. Assumed to be a shortcut, based on the route drawn by utter confusion.

Oh yeah, and remember the advertisement stating the park was twenty-five miles out?

Nothing about that hot-press, black-cat inked newspaper accounted for the extra eight weighing your ankles down and your motivation dead low. Twenty-five only stretched out unto the ranger parking lot. The entrance, for fuck's sake.

Shaky flit of your digits, they float gently off the carve–veined surface of the wood, unfolding your spine as you rise. “Wrong way—” you utter to your chest, oven–warm as it puffs, “—gotta be the wrong..”

Tentative–ism is normal here, right? Like, no way you're cautious and sweating at the brow for nothing. Right?

One foot— creeakkk— in front of the prudent other, two sailing lunges, three hurried hops and a matched thud soft as marshmallows plants your shoes to hallowed ground. Blades of verdant whiskers so innocent crush under, and it feels fucking— demeaning, actually. All that gulping and pausing.. for nothing.

You tuck a shoulder–glance to the makeshift ricket of a bridge, and blankface, “Didn't feel like killing me today?”

The tree bears no reply.

“Hmph, surprising. Seeing as someone killed you,” a sigh parts, fading into the whip and straightening of your head, “figured the pursuit of revenge doesn't stop at ghosts.” and the hoist of your boot up, carrying onward.

Sundown paints, crescent layers repose approaching moonlight and dying sunlight sprawls psychedelic limbs above you. Balance ambling in tiny bops only made the swirling grasp of those gradient rays more trippy on your eyes and coercive of daydreams, rot–nip for the brain. You spot nutbrown brick— a fireplace in your mind, fevered heat roasting on the inside wall of your forehead too. It was Christmas before the storm, a subzero December. And it was, in fact, colder than the unreachable heaven. Dad was hunkered down in front of that innocuous amber crackle, his right leg slack to the ground and his left arched in the neck of an acoustic guitar, arms plaiting its hollow curve into his chest. 1971, when the veil through and within was thin, and love–vomit poured so easily through. A time of justified ignorance; Childhood.

Stood you adjacently, legs short and posolutely not stout, dimpled in the knees. Aged two years, and mushy as ambrosia, contorting your mouth jubilant as you're told for the camera, contrary to your father with his expression drooping to his strumming fingers. Sickly sweets, adult–you unpurposefully neglects to twirl lips at, your extraordinary grins now turned ordinary flat–lines. Holiday memoirs, those spoiled ripe quick after adulthood bolted itself in the slabs of your tender spine and instilled an artificial love for labor and country, displacing nostalgia from ever being seen as a flesh existence.

“Say cheese!”

America is sub–human, and sub–humans created America, the imperfect cycle. Families tear, eagles outcry, friends drink their death, and the days continue to unfold without a trace of acknowledgement. Days exist where you soak festivities and stave off the pointer–finger poking at so called slack you relish, and some twenty dwindling years ahead the slowly deadening oak grove road, carousals will be criminally known as layabout–makers.

Joy is a luxury now.

A blockage prevents your foot from winching clean forward, meeting the bone–hard kiss of a boulder to sore your toes. “Fuck!” you brand your throat walls to a shout, pissed at the rock rather than your woolgather that lead you to said rock, “Fucking fuckhead rock!”

Woolgather means daydreams, by the way. Funner to use words that don't make a split of sense. Yay for English.

The sunset clouds dripped with a mania of fascination and had strung your brain to its hypnotic whims, like a siren had soloed a trance, drifting your mind somewhere utopian and phantasmagorical. It sounds silly, but, blanking out seems so often out of grasp from your control, you usually could never flag what caused it, when it started, and why. Nothing practical surfaces. Fuck, your head is so tangled upon memories, you haven't even noticed the progression of scenery twelve o’clock from you.

Ponderosa boughs band together where your eyes brush shapes and forage for a clue of what scene wants to greet you ahead. The sequestering silence of rustles indicates a clearing, possibly. Possible as it could be, you fully expected this cruel footslog to wallop your ass into a minefield, so you bet cards and course carefully beneath the crowns of pine, completely bent to the chance of another obstacle threatening your tender ankles. Leafy whispers above strum your ears brimmed with its sotto voce song, and then— colors it silently behind.

“Holy shit.”

Presence crumbles above you, and opens before you. The lookout. Wood shafts slant in opposing directions, up and up along four brawny beams in three consecutive layers, like a blocky cone. The face closest to you overlaps the backing rest, giving the illusion of tufted wooden legs sketched under all lackadaisical. Endgame daylight spies from behind this one–roomed cyclops, gushing final spurts of citrus rays as if it truly was an orange squeezed to pulp. So, the flank and forehead of that towering, mountainscaping lookout rolling a cold shoulder to the sun, paves in a tattered tapestry of garnet smokiness instead. Shadow of sundown. From where you sow feet, a football field apart, petty details are difficult to squint into clarity, but the window panes appear tawny, too.

An intimidation, “So much for a tiny room.” A beaute intimidation, “And no actual bathroom.” it makes you feel like a genuine insect compared.

A sort of stairwell serpent faintly chokes the foot, the calves, the thighs, and punctures kindly a mouth leading up to the skirting balcony hedged in many gaunt teeth. Tamping gravel closer, subtleties and fine points fade as the tower's plank–lined and flat underbelly turns to you. Larger and larger, it dips darkly from miniscule masquerade.

Bringing your decently aching foot to the first step, you press into the curb and meander your cruder aching— thanks to a random boulder— foot weirdly on the outer ridge of your boot. Making it up the stairs to fund yourself a fucking break was a palpable mockery in itself. Like, ‘Hey! Climb this long–ass stairwell for a teensy break before doing it all over again the next day!’.

Un–fucking–believable.

Fifty years of history and past rangers grate in your walk, the floorboards thump with their stories, thump into your skin— verse you a wordless eulogy. Each step is a sentence, and every sentence branches into a whole tree of genealogy, lives. Lifestyles you can't understand now, but will.

Really redundant of me to highlight the generations alive in those floorboards. The walk up there isn’t that exciting.

After the last step, you're met eye–to–frame with a scratched door, pygmy window centered and paper–screened from within, and the stories predating your stay inspire a comical theory, “Jeez— bears make it up here?” you half–suppress a snort, palming a fist on the doorknob coldly before rotating and giving sympathetic pressure to the door.. jammed.

“C’mon..” knuckles pulse into the knobs plate, gradually upping the force you pushed, “.. losing light out here..” eventually adding your other hand to sweeten the push.

Sure, a whole year has gone by since it homed somebody, and it's retro, but come on.

Breaking splinters into the door was your last intention, so you try so–so carefully— to some extent, “Please..” now butting the tip of your boot on the rim to ease it— ease, and finally pry, a clapback of wind blowing dusty, nightfall air past your crescent cheeks following the snap of the fallow door.

Thank goodness for your grace and balance, some days, avoiding a timely trip face–first to a floor so powdered in light dust, any kid would mistake it for a good time sweeping snow angels.

Not so good for the respiratory system though.

Muggy space filtering your lungs tightly, you cough out, “Gah— fuck!” nothing higher than the level of a guttural wheeze, your chest punching into your throat. Gaping out the last flock of butterflies clumped at your collarbones, the tickle inside calms, and you find your sights taking in a dark box. A dim orb of lily silver glow rests in the middle of the pall room, raising the natural, “Where's the ligh— ah, big clunky thing—”

Flicking the off–white and stubby nub attached to an impractically sized lightswitch, which frankly resembles an electric box externally, an essence of Apollo ladens the room. Lemony–gold light, passably bright off the redwood ceiling, and murmuring a low buzz through one ear, and out the other, your pupils caper along the contrasting shades awakened.

“Definitely retro, but.. no roommates.” spoke you, gingerly content with the colors piecing this camper pad together. You observe.

Forget–me–nots bled the cotton bedsheets baby blue, leavening the mattress with a tidy emotion as it's tucked, folded at the top and draped in a complimentary quilt— benevolent blues, hues your lids soften on. The bed beelined from the doorway, a corner counter fawn–brown as the wood extends adjacent to it, covering the northeastern angle of the room. Magpied brands of canned food clutter shelves, spines spanning thick books of epic poetry to sci–fi comics create a ribcage of literature along a compact bookcase perching that countertop, and sunken in the east side of it, a steel sink. It shimmered sunflower bands of light as you moved, a rainbow–arched faucet brightened completely.

Step by step, you draw near a circular table in the middle. Strange rods and gadgets stuck out of the borders, inlaid glass protecting a local map so sleek you could see a phantom of your face in it, and a black bar looming the width, so it rings with tangible importance. Of which you'll gauge about later. Truthfully, the journey by foot here? Dead–beating, your knees bloated, throbbed flesh hot, and almost buckled; fatigues infamous way of scolding you to sit the fuck—

“Sup Maple lake, you there?”

A pang hammers to your heart, and a crawlish wave of startled blood pales from your face and drops to your jaw, “Jesus!” sweat hitting you a blink after, every normal function just— flunked. That voice, more like a ruptured stereo sizzling, caught you the fuck off guard. Now you dither, dumbassery taking your eyes through a new loop of figuring out where–why–how and what the robotic intruder wants.

But pre–realizing, your ears perk to a more coherent, and outstretched string of static, “C'mon, know you're checked in.” and post–realization tugs your eyes to a mustardy n’ black cased device; a walkie–talkie.

Okay, way to creep recruits out. Whoever, for whatever reason— at the nick of night too, gimme’ a break. You wry, knitting raisin crinkles above your nose, trying to discern your palette of options; pick up the walkie, tap in and feign politeness in the shortest and sluggiest scraps of small talk to be done with the day, or rant off the bat— highlight how fucking late it is, and how taxing a double–goddamned–day hike made your head and patience feel. And right now, the second response route feels arguably more tempting than—

“This is Cordero Tower, calling in. Can see ya’ standing by the Osborne, by the way.”

Its staticy feedback has waned completely, densening a thick husk and tilting towards a honeyed undertone. Relaxed sounding or not, what the fuck.

You react predictably, flicking your chin west, then east only for you to meet the dead of night— thanks mountains— stalking perfectly in every single window. So, useless to check. Answering it was a yes–go, it would be sickenly awkward to thrust it under the rug now. Your knees pull forward, eyes calligraphing the power buttons tinted in cherry light, palm drawing to meet your focal point.

The case is ribbon gentle under your fingertips’ graze, fresh and in store–new condition. Maybe the only thing hot from the pot of newfangled technology. Plastic intricacies roll under until you settle on a swollen button, denting the plush of your finger as you press, hold, and speak. A crisp crackle activates your line, tuning you in.

Breath hesitates between your chords, “Maple.. lake.. speaking,” off–the–tongue words manifesting on–the–spot, “you can see me?”

“Yeah.” the walkie chuckles, sugary curl pitching up and through their tone, “Look out ur’ north window, you'll see her.”

Her?

Nooking your nose north, you only widen pupils on that same, starless coast of darkness nosing the rim of your window sills. What do they mean to—

“Nh–no,” You literally said north, “get closer to the window, n’ look up.” What, are you a fucking sparkling, rasp–voiced eagle?

“Fuck are you talking about,” mouthed you void of voice, stumped on what this person was getting at. Wedging your knuckles below the meshy underside of your backpacks right strap, you wrangle it down your arm as you glide rubbery sole along croaking oak, tossing that bag so cumbersome atop a lily white pillow— looking fresher than a daisy, and clamber the mattress pliantly dented to your knees to grasp a broader panorama.

And with that window hood washed over, a convoy of fireflies focus a tiny constellation in the murked glass. Little pinholes of light, dots in the distance. They rough–hew a blur, but the excess seconds taken to brood squints and balance the blurry blotches, an outline crops up. Another fire lookout, sprouting from rock and rise of a berg. Offspring of the distant cordillera that gives this whole park its sense of a cradled–woodland, but either way thought, a lookout hosts it home on top.

“You can see me from all the way out there?” you wondered, truly. I mean— at minimum, a sore sprawl of miles bridges you both.

“Mhm..” a pause loiters that fluid hum, then some really throaty syllables, “Binoculars~” you could almost envision— nah, feel the stare of those binocs, undoubtedly taking note of every contort in your body right now.

“Oh thats, totally.. not,” you blunt your tone, shying a few inches from the glass, “.. creepy.” awkwardly. “Uh, who are you anyways— are you like, uh, another recruit?” as you engage small talk, grumpy frown pouting, the habit of kissing your wrist to your jaw as you would a piglet–tailed telephone overruns your burnt out focus, having to wince the walkie away when your eardrums nearly burst.

Ouch.

“For one, I'm actually your supervisor. I know, I don't sound like a typical smoker–lunged, middle–aged white dude.” their tone gruffs and deepens to impersonate, finger air quotes practically radiating from the other end, “And two, my name is Ellie— Ellie Miller–Williams, if you care.”

“Don't.” you heave out the pain stretching your head, aching each time you simply thunk.

“Straightforward,” her timbre ups in approval, seemingly, “I like it. I like you, recruit I dunno’ the name of.” and a bubble hics her throat, quite audibly.

“Not single.” Wrong, just uninterested. Hooking two fingers in the fabric handle of your bag and craning it to the ground, with scattered grates of plastic buckles skating the floor.

“What?”

Oh, shit she wasn't— oops, ‘course she meant that platonically, heads so damn muggy, “Uh, it's—my name.. sorry I’m just a bit out of the loop—” Dumbass, unscramble your brain alphabet soup, will you?

“That’s a long ass name, what were your parents thinking? Haha.” Her duo–beat chuckle flares your humiliation, and then proceeds to pinch its swollen parts into total inflammation, “Where does it originate from?”

Cheesy bitch, “Can you not— I like, pfhh..” you temper yourself with a moon–cool blow to chap your lips and inflate your cheeks, ending up with a draw of an even more loosened tongue sour as it complains, “Did a whole two–day hike through the most torturous terrain just to get here, I really don't—”

Please.

And if gripes trudged through teeth aren't persuasive enough, you recess your bone–ache bod avidly in the springy haven of your bed which chirped at your weights shifting motions, collarbones packing down on your vocal chords. You shouldn't sound up to chat whatsoever. Instead, vehemently drained, “I just wanna get some shut eye, talk me over n’ the mornin’.” your thumb lying a button away from disconnecting.

“Hey, hey—” Ellie ushered, her slurry breath fogging up the mic. Lips squeak softly into it, smacking before an intone, “Can't I be a little curious?”

You synchronized in noise, sucking teeth behind heart–pursed lips, “Do you think somebody this exhausted has the appetite to entertain you?” stilling your thumb–pad on the power off key.

“If I keep bothering you,” that alone ticked you, her blatant drive to carry on when your brain rejected its substance, “.. yeah. Maybe you'll be nicer then too.. huph!” a heartier peep hicced up on the speaker, and right then that noise jogged a discovery.

“Are you drunk?” has to be.

Of course, she ignores the naked and sorely obvious, “Did your boyfriend break ur’ heart or something— an’ that's why you're out here?” bottle sloshing in the background of her mumble.

Dumbstruck, you furrow a miffy expression, “W–what, boyfriend?”

“Said you weren’t single.” she recalls, warmly unspinning the fuddle that knit your brows, “Think I forget so easily?” drawled like a sultry retort, baking your ears.

You a hundred percent forgot though.

Gosh, short–term memory sucks, or it's just your energy drought making you woozy. Blame it on lethargy, “No no, that was just.. tired talk. I thought you were hitting on me.”

“Oh? That's cute.” her choosing to say that latter statement unfolded discordantly, you seriously couldn’t gauge if that was a flirt, or another paper daisy— mock honey, a platonic notion. Even so, it sounded so damn smooth, lace to the ears. “But no, I wasn't— m'not like gay or ‘whutever.” stammered her, light snort fanning.

A stifled chuckle hops from your chest, mixing with hers, “Uhuh, cool.” halfway uncaring and halfway amused, bafflement working your facial muscles.

“Yeah, um, but seriously..” her voice drifts into a ponderous rasp, the faint rustles of flimsy paper licking page to page subtler than her speech, “what's got you out here, newbie?”

“Newbie. Really?” A brow pricks.

“I mean, you're new— new to the lookout, new to the job, in need of my phenomenal supervision and my wide range of knowledge. Yeah, a newbie.”

Then your brow mellows, tension held in your face dropping dead on backhanded flattery, “You are funnily agonizing.”

“Aw.” her scratchily suave coo has your jaw set like stone, “That's so sweet.” but her short–lived song has your heartstrings soaked in ripe honeycomb, touched to the core by sweetness nebulose and an assortment of some foreign threads. Thickened heart, tighter ribs, a churn to weaken your stomach, a maverick of things unfamiliar to you.

Momentaries, but still noticeable even if your senses were twisted backwards.

Chewing over how you'll begin to explain, a few letters sift through your chords, until you hook on a sigh, “Ah, well, I'm out here for a fuck ton of reasons—”

“Reasons, or— huhp, problems?” Ellie blurt–hics, nosy.

“..”

A brief gulp and exhale wheezes from her, “Sorry, it's the bourbons’— super good. Continue.”

You loosely split your mouth, gasping to exchange a gale for words pressing out, “A series of reasons, and problems, that I don't bother to lay on a grand platter, so you'll get a summary tossed on an appetizer plate.” you preface. Allow an elliptical gap to cut through, rousing her hum to let you know her ears are as intent–peaked as a Chihuahua’s, “Contact with my parents’ has gone cold, my last job made me want to hurl into a pack of crocodiles— and the city became too loud and too heavy–handed. Saw this job on the local paper, and got the hell out of dodge.”

An omissive summary, you meant.

There’s more that eats the heart. People can’t just.. drop the burden of knowledge wantonly on randos like they’re idling under fertile treetops waiting for the apples to plummet, biting into a pulpy biography. She’s just a girl, not a therapist.

A discomforted purr lengthens into her reply, “Mmmmh, ever try a drink or two?” her intoxicated reply.

“Oh, see,” you flap your hand and slap it to your denim clad thigh, “you are drunk.” as if she could even see your gesture.

“No, I’m Ellie, hmhm~” comes with a giggle, and you consider her state of insobriety to be— wavering, but it’s stimulating to hear her fluctuate between groaned jokes and extra raspy comments, “Still haven’t told me your name though.”

Some moments during this whole ‘Who are you?’ seminar made you concerned for your future here— if you’ll make it out psyche intact, but some moments found by winnowing through the illogical backtalk touched you with inbound camaraderie.

Invisible touches that inhabit your neck with a leak of your name so— sincerely. It transforms into a fairer sound on your ears when she repeats it, affirming it. Nobody else's teeth clutches your name so welcome as she.

“Hmm, ‘name kinda fits your voice.” odd commentary, but since composed with her already peculiar and drunken tongue, the shoe fits.

That said, crabby confusion seems easier to articulate, “Thanks, weirdo.” but lips rebellious, they press an inevitable grin together.

“No problem, sleepyhead.”

So many nicknames.

Recognizing that downtick in hubbubs and breaths on the walkie, checking out for the night posed as a passionate option the burden weighing your eyelids couldn't or shouldn't veto. So you haul your torso up, kick and poke your toes over ankles to butt your boots off prior planting your heels, whisking toward the lightswitch and committing your lookout to swell with the outside's dark fresco.

Stygian tones.

“Speaking of sleepy heads..” you taper off speech, leaving the rest to her— touch wood— wide enough, hopefully–not–drunk–enough imagination to fathom as you slide and slip desperately beneath woolen blankets, sleepy worries, and sentences sailed to rest.

“Aw man.” Ellie bums so, so stupidly, for comical value.

“Yeah, man.”

“Mpht—” wetness smacks, “wanted to bore a pretty girl to death with recruit regulations and syllabi..”

How would you know?

In reality, Ellie was reaching a transcendent caliber of wasted, drinking up your atmospherics and drunken to her gutly core. Woods hatch forlorn people; forlorn people get thirsty, “But, mhh, heads’ nearly falling off, whoof.” she expresses a soaring of vowels, but it parallels a gruff howl more.

Drowsy, buzzy jubilancy, plucking her flirty strums. You sugarcoat the flare in your chest hearing ‘pretty girl’, ears clicking to the swallow convincing your heart that Ellie was not flirting. As established; She’s under the influence, and not gay. Your brain repeats that, over and over, repeat, repeat, she isn’t flirting.

“Hey, here's a tip..” you inch the walkie a penny away from your flopped head, clefting your lip open, “Don't get drunk on the job. They didn't hire you to decoct your brain the day before chaperoning a recruit in the literal wilderness. So, stash that shit, n’ let's both get some shut eye, yeah?” and saying all that, may have just cashed in your last dose of breath and brain cells for the night.

Ellie being Ellie— well, what you suspect is a ‘her’ thing after these few speckled minutes, dopily laughs at you. And dammit if she wasn't glamoring a dopey smirk in accord, you’ll have gleaned wrong.

A voice, “Who’s the boss again?” her witty and cruel wisecrack, “They didn't pay you to boss the— hup, boss around.”

They will pay you to confront and reflect your spectrum of limits if this girl brushes their seams, that's for certain. Or, play God and lambast her, tender as milk.

There's even a stroke of a chance, that your crooked lips poached her dopey grin instead, “Kay, well, maybe they'll reimburse me for your poor services.”

“My services are not poor. You'll see, tomorrow.” the volume of her melts away, going muted under liquid swills clanging on glass.

“Please tell me that's the sound of you putting the bottle away.”

“Mhm!” came out plugged, the bottle confining her garble, then popping clean as a cork, “Fuck— okay,” she siphons air in, pure little clink tinting the end of her sharp–edged sniffle, “Make sleeping in earlier worth it t’morrow, wanna drive you nuts with my questions.” she nasals, drawing near the mic again.

Such a magpie, “Cause you're lonely?” and weird.

“Shut up,” she shushes you, a satin whisper light–hearted and quick on beat, “M’not lonely anymore, right?” The type of softly spoken outcry that would balloon your cheeks with soreness if you were face–to–face with the throat that conducts it. Involuntary smiles plague you everywhere. But there is no mouth, no larynx, no throat that you view the swallow of. Just a walkie, so you settle in stoicism.

You tug your upper–lip and pivot your eyes, drumming up something clever to combat, “In a sense. Not like we’re bunkmates, thank goodness.”

“Fuck you,” Ellie breaks into a cuss spout so serenely, she sounded small and harmless, “just go to bed.” reduced to birch in winter shed of its brittle autumn arguments.

“Don’t gotta tell me once.”

By the first full and emphatic giggle she cast just now that wasn’t suppressed nor achieved by humble pie, you take it that Ellie found you funnily harrowing just as her, two peas in an outstretched pod. Fault be with her, for getting wasted. Otherwise, you might have pried her skull open with questions dolled up as a pruner, clipping the forelimbs that are foliated in a messy breadth of first glance leaflets and attitudes until you piece it prettily, in a way that thralls you to never shrink your eyes back into their sockets. Drunk people are like prone beehives though, so you don't prod them.

Tomorrow, you can paint her portrait, or vice versa.

“Whatever you say, newbie.”

And with the whirry crunch of the walkie shutting off, Monday, came to a close.

if you enjoyed this chapter, please lmk what you thought!! i love getting asks about my content ♡

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peachdues · 7 months

Text

VIOLENT DELIGHTS (NSFW TEASER)

Mercenary!Tengen x Assassin!Reader

A/N: I’ve been hyping this one up for a while, so enjoy a smutty teaser of Part I of Tengen’s installment in my Tell Me to Stop series.

This will be an enemies-to-lovers fantasy AU where Tengen is a contracted mercenary for the royal Ubayashiki family and Reader is an assassin. Trust when that when I say “enemies to lovers” I mean enemies to lovers. Tengen and Reader take turns beating the shit out of each other and both try to kill each other at least once.

But be warned: things get fucking filthy. Hope you’re ready to see Tengen be the biggest simpy bitch for Reader. Enjoy!

CW: explicit sexual content below • MDNI • oral (f!receiving) • public sex • sub!Tengen • he quite literally crawls for a chance to eat Reader’s pussy • begging • enemies to lovers • Reader’s on a power trip and we love it • defilement of a throne

“That isn’t yours,” a familiar voice drawled from behind the drapery partitioning off the entrance to the grand throne room. Though its tone was almost bored, there was a faint hint of amusement.

Your red-painted lips curved up into a devious smile. “My apologies, I thought I spied my name carved into this fine stone.”

From the shadowy corridor of the throne room emerged a figure,

“It belongs to his Majesty, who, need I remind you, you tried to assassinate not even one year ago.”

“That is old news,” You waived your hand dismissively at him, crossing one leisurely leg over the other, allowing the silky material of your dress to part at the slit around your thigh. “I have moved on. Call it self reflection, personal growth —“

“A higher paying offer,” Uzui amended.

“— All that matters is that I now pose no threat to your beloved King.” You finished smoothly. “I simply wanted to see if the great Ubayashiki’s throne was as grand as the rumors claim.”

The Sound Mercenary only shook his head, his arms folded across his massive chest as he sauntered down the aisle toward the base of the dias leading up to the royal throne, where you sat. “Your very presence on his ancestral seat dishonors His Majesty. And though I tolerate many things, I should not tolerate disrespect to him.”

“Is that why you fucked the one once hired to cut his throat?” You pondered, loftily. “Was it out of this great respect for him that you begged for my cunt?”

Uzui scowled. “I said I shouldn’t tolerate it; I never claimed to succeed in doing so.” And even from where you sat above him, you could see the fire simmering in the Sound Mercenary’s eyes as he passed through a large beam of moonlight that streamed through the windows of the cavernous Hall. “That’s particularly true where a certain devious assassin who enjoys toying with the threads of my sanity is involved.”

You suppressed the delighted shiver that tickled down your spine. “Be that as it may — if you want to preserve the sanctity of your Master’s throne, then you will have to come remove me yourself,” you smirked, shifting forward in the seat, eyes flashing with your challenge. “But be warned: I am armed.”

The silver-haired mercenary gave a great snort. “You remind me as though it were possible to forget how you held a blade against my neck while you fucked yourself on my cock,” his voice dropped to a sultry purr and his eyes darkened. “I may be a blind fool where you’re concerned, but only a simpleton would think to underestimate you.”

“So narrow minded, Uzui.” You sighed. “A woman can be armed with more than mere blades.”

You uncrossed your legs, your fingers ruching up the delicate folds of your dress and pulling them aside, your thighs spreading wide across the seat of the throne.

Your gown was spun from a fabric the color of molten silver. Though floor-length, the bottom half of the dress was not a single, unified garment. Rather, the skirt was separated into three, equal sections, with one pleat hanging straight down the middle. The other two were separated from it by twin slits, extending from the bottom hem of the gown to nearly either hip.

Standing, the openings in the gown weren’t noticeable; but they served an important function, allowing you greater freedom of movement should you find yourself in need to fight or flee, and it made it easier to grab for any weapons you could strap to your thighs.

But the dual-slit skirt served another important function: access.

Your faint smirk twisted into a cruel grin as Uzui’s eyes ran down the length of your body and snagged on the flash of what lay at the apex of your thighs, before you allowed the middle panel or fabric to cover you once more.

It was brief, but with relish, you realized it had been enough to grind all his higher reasoning to a screeching halt; for you’d given him a quick glance of what you knew he wanted most.

Your cunt.

And you’d forgone wearing underclothes.

“Gods above,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “You are sin itself.”

He began advancing toward you, his hands quickly undoing the belts securing his various blades and weapons from where they were knotted around his waist. His weapons dropped carelessly to the floor, the whine of metal against scraping against stone drowned out by the music thundering from the orchestra in the ballroom just beyond the doors to the hall.

“Stop,” your voice rang clear and firm through the empty throne hall, and the Sound Assassin halted, foot suspended mid-air.

His eyes followed your fingers as they toyed with the low neckline of your gown before dropping down to your breast, circling it once. His tongue darted out to lick his lips, before he swallowed hard.

Your head was fogged by the high of his obedience. “Crawl to me.”

Magenta eyes widened, a blush creeping out from under the high collar of his tunic. For a moment, you feared you’d gone too far, that this game you played had run its course, but then Uzui dropped to his knees. Keeping his eyes locked heatedly with yours, he began to shuffle forward, slow and purposefully, to where you remained perched on his King’s throne.

Your slave, indeed.

The revered mercenary of the Wisteria Kingdom’s royal family finally drew upon the dais leading to the great throne. He paused, still on his hands and knees, his eyebrow raised in question as he glanced between you and the stairs elevating you above him.

Quickly, you tallied the number of steps separating you, and your grin broadened.

Ten.

You peered down your nose at the waiting Sound Mercenary with mocking disdain. “I’m waiting.”

The silver-haired guard did not utter a single word as he crawled forward, his eyes unwaveringly locked with yours. Despite his hulking size, he ascended the ten steps on his hands and knees with a loping grace, and within seconds he was at the foot of the throne, peering up at you in both reverence and apprehension.

His back straightened, though he remained on his knees before you, settling instead on his haunches. Tentatively, he reached for you, but but before his hands could graze your knees you extended your leg and planted your heel-clad foot squarely in the center of his chest, halting him.

Your voice was softer than the shadows cast by the dim candlelight flickering in the sconces lining the walls. “I did not say you could touch me.”

Yet you did not stop him as his fingers teased along the outside of your foot, lifting your leg until your calf rest against his collar bone.

“I have not stopped thinking about you,” he confessed with a rasp, his lips whispering against the skin of your ankle. “For weeks, you have consumed me, mind, body and soul.”

He began peppering small, chaste kisses against your leg, each caress of his lips rising higher and higher. His eyes bore into yours, and the vastness of the desperation swimming in those fuchsia irises threatened to swallow you whole. “Please,” he urged as his fingers worked circles into the soft flesh behind your knee. His eyes flicked down to what was between your thighs — what he craved most — before lifting back to yours. “I think I may go mad if I do not have a taste—“

You lurched forward, ignorning the burn in your hamstring, and caught his chin firmly in your hand, halting his ascension up your leg. He did not dare to blink as you leaned in close enough to see the blacks of his pupils dilate, chasing away the magenta of his gaze “I think you’ve already succumbed to madness, given that you’re begging to taste my cunt while your Master is in the next room. While I sit on his throne.”

“Then you are the cure to my sickness,” Uzui retorted, his cheek pressed to your shin. His eyes shone with a feverish devotion, one that flamed the red-hot fire of need burning in your belly. “So please, allow me the chance to ease some of my suffering.”

You sat back against the ancestral seat of the Ubayashiki bloodline, your lips pursed in consideration, though your hold on him remained.

“Show me.” You ordered after a moment, and your thumb slipped into his mouth. Instantly, his lips wrapped around its tip, his tongue flicking across the pad of your finger as he sucked. “Show me who you truly bow to; show me what god you worship.”

You let your hand fall from his chin and settled back against the throne, your thighs spreading wide in invitation.

Uzui wasted no time; deft fingers shoved the slitted panels of your dress to the side, and he surged forward, latching his mouth to your cunt with a gasp.

It was remarkable how quickly a few strokes of his tongue against your heated flesh could melt your smug grin clean from your face. Your head thudded against the high back of the throne as Uzui parted your folds with his tongue, began drinking you in with enthusiastic grunts.

“Thank you,” he moaned between fervent laps at your cunt, his hands wrapped under your thighs, holding you open to accommodate his hulking size as he worked. “Thank you, my sweet villain. Thank you.”

Your grip on the arms of the throne tightened, your nails nearly cracking as your fingers dug into the carved stone with crushing force. Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you knew you were lucky that the Ubayashiki clan had favored such a sturdy material for its royal seat, for the arm rests would have surely crumbled in your hands had they been made from mere wood.

One of Uzui’s great hands tugged a leg over his shoulder, your foot coming to rest against his upper spine. He then bent your other leg at the knee before pushing it far to the side to allow himself to press as close to your center as possible, the mass of his shoulders serving to pin you in place and keep you spread as wide as your body would tolerate.

This new position meant that his nose was flush against the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs, serving as extra stimulation as his mouth worked furiously against you.

“I’ve heard that there is no finer wine than that made by the gods themselves,” Uzu gasped against you, pulling his mouth away from your core to rest his great cheek against your inner thigh while he caught his breath. The sight of his lips — rosy and shiny from you — was enough to make you squirm, your hips bucking insistently toward him, desperate for him to continue. “But I know that’s a load of horse shit, because neither the gods nor man could ever make anything taste as sweet as your cunt.”

“Uzui —“ you whined, your need for him too great to care about the desperate edge of your tone.

“Fuck,” Uzui hissed and then he latched his mouth back to your core with a heady groan. His tongue stroked at you, swirling around your clit once, twice, before diving back down to your entrance and plunging deep.

You would have bowed off the throne had the Sound Mercenary’s great hand not slapped firmly against your sternum to push you back and hold you down. You bit your tongue hard enough to draw blood to keep the loud, rapturous cry of pleasure from tearing free from your throat as Uzui began steadily pumping his wet appendage in and out of your heat.

Once he was sure you would not float away from him, his hand dragged down your torso, stopping to palm and pinch at your breasts before continuing its descent, finally coming to press flat against your lower abdomen. His thumb stretched down and began toying with the nub between your thighs, circling and pressing in time with the movements of his mouth.

“What have you done to me? I will never be able to have enough of you.” He moaned in between measured thrusts of his tongue. Your fingers flew to grip a handful of his hair, tugging him harshly against you as your hips began moving or their own accord, bucking and grinding senselessly against his face until you were riding his tongue. Chest heaving, you looked down to see the whites of his eyes peeking through his eyelids before they fully shut, as Uzui lost himself in your taste.

You could feel your cries building in your throat, a mounting pressure that risked erupting and exposing you — exposing you both — to the revelers just on the other side of the Great Hall. You may not have been familiar with all the intricate details of the Wisteria Kingdom’s laws, but you were fairly certain defiling the Crown’s throne would earn you a one-time encounter with an executioner’s blade, no matter how benevolent its ruler.

It was growing more difficult to contain your noises, especially as Uzui’s hunger grew more frenzied, his head rocking harshly from side to side as he feasted.

Just as you were about to lose what little control over yourself remained, the silver-haired mercenary held something out in offering, though the rhythm of his mouth against your center remained constant. In your pleasured haze, it took you a moment to comprehend what, exactly, it was he suggested.

You blinked rapidly in an effort to clear the fog created by his sinful tongue between your legs.

It was his hand.

It hung limp from his wrist, and if you hadn’t known better, you almost would’ve believed he was waiting for you to lean forward and kiss his knuckles, just as you’d spied countless nobles do when getting their monarch. But this was no sycophantic noble — this was Uzui, and though he loved groveling for you, he knew better than to give you orders.

It was an offering; confirmed by the way he rolled his head to the side, his cheek pressing to your inner thigh even as he continued to lap at your folds. As you peered down your nose at him, you spotted sliver of magenta peeking through his eyelashes, before it flicked to his hand and back to you; urging.

His lips moved to wrap around your pearl and he sucked, hard enough that your back arced sharply away from the seat of the throne. Shakily, you reached to cover the hand he’d held out with your own and you hauled it quickly to your mouth, managing to stifle your moan against his knuckles and Uzui continued to suckle away, his tongue sliding along your slit.

His other hand slid between your thighs until his fingers came to rest against your lips. In an instant, he’d spread them wide and plunged his tongue back into your opening, curling and thrusting.

Your teeth sank hard into the flesh covering the back of Uzui’s hand where it was pressed against your mouth, your scream burning as it toiled in your throat. You felt his skin break under the force of your bite, but the Sound Mercenary did not seem to mind; in fact, he hardly seemed to notice at all, far too fixated on fucking you as thoroughly with his tongue as he could with his cock.

Once, you’d thought it was only he who wore a leash, one that had been looped around his neck by you, to be pulled and tightened at your whim.

Now, as your hips lifted to meet his mouth and your mind disconnected from your body in favor of grinding wantonly against his face, you realized that perhaps, he’d slipped his own leash around you. For as much as you insisted you were always in control, always remained one step ahead, you found that you were no more a slave to your own desires than the man feasting on your cunt like it was his last meal.

You were close; so dangerously close, given how your abdomen tensed as that coil in your belly cinched tight.

“Uzui —“ you warned, pulling your mouth away from his bloodied knuckles. But then Uzui grazed his teeth against your clit just as his tongue curled and stroked your innermost wall, and that coil unwound.

Your climax slammed into you with a force that threatened to pull you apart at your seams. One hand clutched at the arm rest of the throne while the hand shot to his head, your fingers ensnarling themselves into his hair harshly enough that you could’ve scalped him, had he tried to pull away. But Uzui wasn’t going anywhere; not as you began twisting and gyrating and bucking against his face, too overcome by pleasure to make a sound, your mouth only hanging open in a silent scream.

The Sound Mercenary groaned loudly into your cunt as you continued riding against his face. A violent shudder passed over him and he clutched harder at your thighs, his hands nearly wrapping around them both as he fucked you through the tides of your climax.

Uzui lapped at you twice more before your legs finally relaxed and the last wave of your high receded. Limp and panting, you forced your hand to tighten its grip in his hair, tugging until you managed to pull his face away from your cunt. You cocked your head to the side, inspecting him, your hand dropping its hold on the silken strands of his hair to grip under his chin, tilting his face up toward you.

Uzui’s cheeks were flushed a bright pink, and his chest heaved as he caught his breath. Your thumb swiped over his bottom lip, and with a fluttering thrill, you realized that the area from his chin to the hollows of his cheeks were thoroughly covered in you, his skin shiny and slick.

Your eyes scanned lower, narrowing in on the crotch of his leathers. Though the throne room was shadowy and dark, you still spied the thick bulge which had formed between his thighs as he’d indulged himself on you. With a smirk, you leaned forward and ran your other hand over the laced seam of his breeches, ready to hear him hiss as you made contact with his hardness, but to your surprise, the material was damp.

Your eyes flicked to his, wide as you withdrew your hand, your thumb running over your palm where a small bit of his spend had seeped through his laces.

Uzui kept his chin high, his eyes full of a besotted wonder as you leaned back against the throne, and grinned.

“You might wish to visit a washroom before you return to your post, Uzui,” you mocked, sweetly. “Lest you allow your entire Court to know how you truly enjoying spending your time.”

“I suppose you’re right; imagine how quickly I’d be sent to the gallows if my master learned I’ve whored myself out to the enemy.” He bit back, a rueful smile forming on his lips. “Though if you were my wife, I could wear your pleasure like a badge of honor.”

“Mine or yours?”

“Mine,” his answer was quick and assured. “There is no higher honor than having you moan for me.” He paused for a moment, his hand reaching for you, and you allowed his knuckles to softly caress your cheek. “Though I think i might consider treason if it meant hearing you utter my name — my true name.”

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #tengen uzui #kny #kny x reader #kny fanfic #kny uzui #kny tengen #uzui x reader #uzui smut #kny smut #demon slayer smut #demon slayer fanfic

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undercoveravenger · 11 months

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The Haunted House

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Male!Reader:

Requested: Yes

Request: “getting dared to go into the shrieking shack on Halloween (wow, a full moon on Halloween? How weird...) and finding a big scary werewolf waiting for you. Except he's really not all that scary, he just won't let you leave because Remus really likes you and his wolf form can't quite say that, just wants to keep you there.”

A/N: This is post number 4 for the 2023 Spooky Month event. Y’alls trick or treat is coming next Tuesday, October 31st. Hope you’re ready.

-----

The Shrieking Shack had well earned its name throughout the years you’d been at Hogwarts, with guttural screams and groans echoing from it each month around the time of the full moon. You’d heard dozens of different stories- ghosts, ghouls, poltergeists like Peeves. Someone from your Transfiguration class even thought it was some long-abandoned merfolk in a tank that’d grown too small.

Whatever it was though, you were going to find out. The lot of you had had to sneak out of your commonrooms and were nearly caught by patrolling professors or prefects a couple times, but now here you are with your friends crowding around behind you clamoring encouragingly, you stand just past the fence separating the Shrieking Shack from the rest of Hogsmeade. The full moon looms ominously just over the ramshackle eaves of the decrepit building, providing just enough light for you to pick your way through the snowy yard and up to the front door.

A mumbled spell is enough to break away the locks and rotting boards holding the door closed and you’re able to force it open the rest of the way with a forceful shove. You only allow yourself one fleeting glance over your shoulder at your friends before making your way into the house and closing the door behind you, resolved to completing your friends’ dare and staying the night in the haunted house.

The floorboards creak with every step you take, wavering slightly under your shoes as your weight puts pressure on long-damaged planks as you make your way deeper into the house, each room revealing deep gashes carved into the walls and floors. Tattered strips of fabric from what might have been blankets or clothes are strewn about, stained a dark rust color in places from what you can only assume is blood. Some rooms even have shards of what would have once been furniture, a splintered chunk of wood that may have once been the arm of a couch tossed thoughtlessly against one wall of a ruined living room and the stuffing from a gutted chair cushion decorating an old bedroom, but no matter how many torn apart rooms you explore, you aren’t been able to find the source of the screams.

It finds you.

You’d wandered into what you think was once-upon-a-time a study, an ancient oak desk sitting on two broken legs in the middle of the room and its chair upturned nearby. The contents of the desk had proven uninteresting by the time you’d dug through the second desk drawer and you’ve gotten to the point of boredom that you’re considering just leaving altogether when you see it standing in the doorway. You’re not sure how long it had been watching you, but it stands, still as a shadow, with pitch dark eyes locked squarely on you.

You can see the beast’s raised hackles over the top of its head, lowered so it can fix you with a brutal stare, and a growl so low it rumbles through you like thunder fills the room as it takes a looming step closer. As it creeps forward, a brush of moonlight from the cracked window pane behind you catches it, giving you just enough light to make out further details of the creature.

At first glance, you might’ve thought it was just a wolf, but the longer you look the more your situation begins to sink in. The creature before you was nearly double the size of any wolf you’d ever heard of, back easily brushing the doorknob as it stalks into the room. Its legs are long and its paws splay when it walks like they’re not quite right, but the real telling point are its eyes. It doesn’t look away from you as it approaches, not even for a second, weaving through discarded furniture and debris like it was second nature until it stands just on the other side of the desk from you. It doesn’t look like it’s questioning whether you’re a threat like any other wild animal would, and the growl has started to subside now that it’s gotten a good look at you. The look in its eyes, while certainly somewhat wild, is too human to be anything else.

You’re not quite sure what to do at this point, not with a massive werewolf between you and the door, but being in a werewolf’s den during the full moon certainly can’t be a good idea. With that in mind you begin to move, edging slowly around the corner of the desk in order to not spook the wolf, already surprised by its calm demeanor and unwilling to test its good graces. The wolf allows you to pass by it and slip from the room, though you can hear the heavy footfalls of its paws as it follows you. You move back toward the front door, intent on leaving the same way you’d come, but you’re stopped by the massive wolf letting out another thunderous growl and shoving its way between you and the door. It bullies you on with more furious growls and pointed nips to your heels and hands, further into the house and up a narrow back staircase into a near demolished bedroom.

You obey when it gives you a pointed glare, settling down against the wall opposite the door. A satisfied huff escapes the wolf and it pads after you, flopping carelessly down to lay beside you and resting its large head heavily on your lap. The reason behind the werewolf’s behavior was confusing, certainly, but werewolves had been known to be territorial and prone to violence from what you’d heard, so if sitting here for a few hours while you waited for the wolf to shift back meant it’d keep you safe, then that was a small price to pay.

-----

It’s not the watery morning light that wakes you, but the shift against you. The aching, tortured gasp of pain that escapes as the person curled against you moves. The sound has you on high alert straightening against your back’s own cry of pain from sleeping sitting up all night, eyes blinking open blearily and finding the now-human werewolf trying to shift away from you.

It takes you a moment to recognize him without his signature posse of idiots and the bright red Gryffindor robes, but you are able to place the jagged pink scars across his face and his curly brown hair from some of your shared classes - Remus Lupin.

“Remus?” His name escapes you before you can stop yourself from speaking and you can see the way the tension takes root in him, joints and muscles coiling under his skin like he was preparing himself to run from some threat.

He seems to have to force himself to settle before he can speak, dark chocolate eyes examining you thoroughly. “I didn’t hurt you, did I? When I was-” He cuts himself off with a clear of his throat, eyes dropping back to his lap. He must’ve managed to track down his clothes from before he’d shifted since he was using them to cover himself. “I can’t really remember anything when I’m… like that.”

“No,” you say, and you can see the relief wash over him, tension easing in his shoulders and he no longer looks like he is going to accidentally shred his jumper. “No, you, uh, well you brought me here and then decided it was a proper time for a cuddle apparently.” You try to force a laugh, though the situation is certainly still awkward, “I thought that werewolves were s’posed to be scary, y’know? Think you’re just a were-lapdog instead?”

A startled laugh slips out of Remus and he looks almost as stunned by it as by your words, “I- I don’t know. This is kind of a new reaction? I’m, uh, I’m usually not so nice when I’m not myself.”

“Huh,” you say, more curious than ever about the wolf’s odd behavior, “I wonder why you were acting like that then? It didn’t really seem to be aggression, even when you growled at me - more like herding behavior like my uncle’s collie.”

Remus flushes at that. This close you can see the dozens of tiny freckles that scattered over his cheeks and down his jaw and neck. “I… have a theory,” he says quietly, like he almost can’t bring himself to say it. His gaze drops back to the bundle of cloth in your hands and you almost wonder if he would’ve tried to sneak out before you had woken up. You wouldn’t have blamed him if he did. “I think it’s some sort of passively shared consciousness? I can’t really connect to it at all, but maybe it can get a sense of my feelings? Like if I strongly disliked someone, it would probably act accordingly, and if I liked someone…” Remus trails off at that, flushing impossibly redder.

An amused little snort escapes you then and you lean forward, supporting yourself with your arms as you push yourself into his field of vision. “Is this you saying you like me, Remus?” You can’t help the chuckle that escapes you at the way you can already see him scrambling for a response, but you lean forward to press a light kiss to his cheek before he can find the words. “Cute,” you say, grinning as you watch the realization hit him. “Sit with me at breakfast?”

He nods slowly as he wraps his mind around your words, eventually letting you help him to his feet and back into his clothes. The two of you eventually make your way back to Hogwarts through the secret passage under the Whomping Willow that he shows you, taking breaks when he needs them and trading banter and kisses all the way.

And while your friends were curious about the shy Gryffindor sitting beside you at breakfast with his hand curled tight with yours, none of them questioned what really happened to you during your night in the haunted house.

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